[Insert Clever TitleHere][Phrost/Open]

[[-Kay-]]

The small frame of the were-cat lady moved slowly through the dark alleyways, her long dark hair hanging down around her pale face. She was only five foot tall, with a tiny frame that was leanly muscled....like a cat. No one would know her as a were-cat until they looked into her eyes and got her to smile or speak. Then they would see she had sharp, needle like teeth and mismatched eyes that held many frozen in her gaze. She had a persuasive tongue and a viscious nature, that was usually somewhat sweet but overall, too sweet. Like honey laced with poison. She wore a black skirt that hung down around her ankles with ballet flats upon her feet. Her torso was covered in a black shirt that was a bit low cut and had a cloak around her neck. Her hood was up and over her head, shielding her face from those around her. She needn't anyone here notice who she was or what she was. A dagger was strapped to a leather garter around her thigh and a black belt hung low on her hips with another long dagger sheathed there. Her feet made no noise as she walked, and her eyes flashed about as people walked by. Needn't anyone really look at her. With the dark glares she was giving everyone, most stayed away. The little lady kept to herself, but that didn't mean that any marauder wouldn't stop and try and mess with her. She kept moving, farther into the city towards a darker section of the market, where some of the more...unsavory things were sold and traded. Her eyes scanned the place and she stopped to converse with a man about a large black horse that roared and snarled like a wildcat. He was a magnificent piece that was large, even for a draft. His eyes were wild and his long, thick mane and tail were untrimmed, like his hooves were unshod. She spoke with the man for a moment, telling him that she would be back should she not find another horse that fit her standards like the one he had. Her skirts swirled about her ankles as she moved gracefully through the marketplace, her senses on high alert. She bored with being among so many..humans. And they made her a bit on edge.

[phrostphyre]

”Move left and cover the back entrance. Pubs like this always have back entrances. Keep quiet, and when ye hear fighting move in. Brian Dubh, or Brian MacTìre , issued the orders with not-so practiced ease. While he had eight years experience in fighting and battle, this was the first time he commanded troops on his own. They numbered nine all total, and he had sent six of them to cover the back door and act as his reserves. Brian took a deep breath, drew his sword, and booted the door in. It opened with a bang, and as he stepped into the silent barroom, he faced at least forty, probably fifty blades leveled at his face. Leaders lead from the front. You want to prove that Gaels can handle leadership? Do it here, do it now.

”I am Brian Conchobhar MacTìre, of King Angrenost’s Savage Faithful. A deserter is in this room. Angus MacDonnell O’Rhea, you are under arrest for desertion in the face of an enemy, treason, and leaving comrades-in-arms to die. Give up and we might wait to hang. Try to hide or run and we’ll string you up from the nearest tree. You have thirty seconds, or we tear this place apart.” All but four of the blades lowered; Angus and three of his friends. Brian slowly counted to fifteen. Time was up. He moved purposefully forward, towards the blades still pointing at him. He kicked chairs over, turned tables over, and made a right mess of things. Angus’ friends moved forward. One slashed low and another slashed high, while the third hung back. Brian’s dirk was withdrawn from where it had been hidden in his plaid, blocking the high slash, while the sword went low. The two toughs seemed surprised when they found a sword through their stomachs. Steel clanged on steel as the two swords met in midair. The last goon had thought to surprise Brian by pulling a knife of his own to attack or parry with, but was fooled when he and Angus were suddenly surrounded by nine armed, kilted, bewhiskered, and angry Gaels. They surrendered, but Brian had warned them, hadn’t he? His orders to disarm them were carried out, and then the eight men surrounded the two idiots and lead them outside to wait while Brian paid the owner for damages and the drinks Angus and his friends hadn’t consumed.

He stepped outside to find spectators watching the chain armored Gaels impassively surround the two new prisoners. Brian conversed in hushed tones with an elderly man about trees in the city, and then took off for the center of the city. The Gaels followed, jostling and pushing the prisoners along. People tossed stones over the soldier’s heads, trying to hit the prisoners, but missing more often than not. After about ten minutes of walking, the group came to a market section of town. A dead oak sat near a corner of the square, and Brian purchased two lengths of rope. He set four men to guard Angus and his buddy, then borrowed two horses, a spirited black and a sedate gray. He tossed the rope over a branch just the right height, then made two nooses and let them dangle while the prisoners were placed upon the horses, standing, and the nooses placed upon their necks.

”Let all here know that on this day, by order of King Angrenost, Sovereign of Broddring, that these men, one Angus MacDonnell O’Rhea and an unnamed man, have drawn steel against said King’s men. Angus O’Rhea has previously been convicted of desertion and treason. Added to this charge is attempted killing of a King’s man. The sentence for both is death by hanging, to be carried out now! For those of you saying King Angrenost’s men have no power here, you are right. However, deserters shall be hunted to the ends of this world. Now!” On Brian’s order, a man smacked each horse on the flank, sending them surging forward and sending the two condemned men to dance the gallows’ jig. Brian gave his men a bit of money to find something to drink while he waited for the two men to die before cutting them down. He returned the horses and sat on a bench, waiting for his men to return. They had an hour. To kill time, Brian began whittling a block of wood that he produced from his sporran. The head had emerged and was the head of a human woman. He had carved the features finely on purpose. He had seen her in the dreams that chased each other like dogs. One moment he was in his father’s tower house conversing with her, and then he was in the Citadel of Carvala. Her’s was the face that haunted him. Brian couldn’t get rid of her. Was it someone he had seen in Alba or Alagaësia.

Brian had been about to strike the head from the carving when a stray scent danced along his nose. It was a well-recognized scent. Death. Angus MacDonnell O’Rhea was dead at age twenty-seven. He had died a deserter and traitor, and would rot without the benefit of being buried or given back to the earth spirits. Brian went back to carving, tapping his foot in time to the beat of a quick march.

[[-Kay-]]

The werecat looked up, her small frame covered by the black cloak that shielded her from prying eyes. She was young, around nineteen, and her mismatched eyes watched as the man stepped up and her eyes narrowed a bit as she examined him. Broad shoulders and a thick accent. She smirked, watching as the men danced the jig. As the men dispersed, she moved towards the man slowly, moving through the crowd. Her voice was soft, teasing, but dangerous. "Now then, Why do you torment them so?" She asked, the lilting tones cadence like a song but more....aggressive. Very persuasive. Very...interesting. Her hand rested on her hip, the dagger that was strapped there glinted as her tiny hand brushed back the cloak a bit, revealing her pale skin. Her mismatched eyes were looking him over, the smell of death bothering her, not in the least. She would have smiled, but she didn't want her fangs to disconcert the warrior who had shown he wasn't afraid of violence. But even so, whenever she spoke, her ivory colored fangs would flash and glint ever so slightly. Barely drawing attention to her mouth, but still drawing attention.

[/blockquote]

[phrostphyre]

Brian’s concentration was broken when a small female voice addressed him. His sgian dubh slipped from the wood, sending the tip into his thumb. He muttered a curse in Alban, and then looked up into a set of mismatched eyes. The voice sounded like it belonged to the body: small. He drew his brows together in consternation, and then relaxed when he saw the sword at her side. A womanish girl, yes, and an armed one. The way she carried herself and the way the blade seemed a part of her arm told a story all in itself to the light eyed man while he quickly checked the people around them to be sure none noticed their conversation. He leaned back, chain rustling as he did so, and invited her to sit with an inclination of his head. His nose twitched, testing the air and what it carried. There was an undercurrent of surprise at the two dangling men, and the fact that a soldier of King Angrenost’s foreign mercenaries dared come to the Tears of Leona, the capital of Broddring’s state religion, and hang two men without even a kangaroo court. Brian went back to carving the woman’s hair, letting the blood from his thumb tip stain the woodcarving.

”Torment the civilians, my men, or the two condemned? Angus was a deserter, a crime punishable by death. Desertion is treason. Treason is punishable by death. He attempted to kill my men. Not itself punishable by death, but I was the judge, lawyers, and executioner there. His friend was friends with the wrong man. I gave my men money so they could go wipe this from their minds. Terrible enough they should watch me brutally hang two men, but to help capture them? No, better if they get reeking drunk. The civilians need to know that King Angrenost, gods bless him, is serious about protecting his citizens and hunting traitors or deserters down. If they stay, they could convince an entire unit to mutiny, or an entire village to change sides. Deserters are cowards. I have not run into battle after my arrows are gone for nothing. It was for the men I suffered, fought, bled, and died with. If the man next to me is a traitor or deserter, better he never lived or lives no longer than cause the deaths of his fellow soldiers. I am Brian MacTìre. What can I do for you, madam?”

[[-Kay-]]

The small frame smiled at his explanation, glittering fangs exposed slightly. Let him make what he would of her, it amused her to see men startled at her appearance. She looked a bit like what one would think of as a dark Victorian doll. But her pale skin was barely refracting the light, making her a bit more....off. She sat down, her hand barely moving from the weapon at her side. "Who is to say a deserter is a coward? Maybe he is a man with a sense of right and wrong, in a world that seems like it knows nothing of such things anymore. Perhaps, the man who deserts is the only one with a clear mind. But no one would ever know because they follow the orders of a king that they believe is always right." She said, her voice was cool and calm, but it spoke wonders. She wasn't aiming to criticize this man's king, but she also wasn't glorifying him either. She was a peacemaker, and a hell raiser. She was good and evil. Completely contradictory. "My name is Ivory." She said, her eyes amused. "I found you interesting, young soldier. Yes, I call you young. For you may be a couple years my elder, but you are still young in your mind." Her voice was confusing now. Persuasive, yet viscious. Like she was chastising him for being not quite as knowledgeable about the farthest reaches of the world that she frequented. "After all, you move among creatures of legend, yet you don't even know it. Today alone, I have seen three Shades, a vampire, and two elves. Yet, you don't even realize they're standing all around you...." Her eyes were darkening and rapidly, a mad grin across her face. "What are you, soldier?" She asked, a curious glint reaching her eyes.

[/blockquote]

[phrostphyre]

The flow of blood had trickled to a stop, but the face and hair of the carved woman had been stained. Brian put the carving back in his sporran and replaced his sgian dubh into its sheath in the top of his kilt hose. He leaned back and took a whetstone from his sporran. He drew his sword with a metal rasp and began sharpening both sides. He showed no alarm when she spoke of Shades. He listened politely, letting her finish, before grinning to himself. He paused in his rhythmic movement of the blade sharpening to test the edge. He answered her question as he returned to the upkeep of his equipment.

”I am the heir of a clan laird in Alba. I am a longbowman, piper, and sergeant in the Savage Faithful, a unit in the army of King Angrenost comprised entirely of non-native Alagaësian soldiers. I am Brian Dubh, or Black Brian, and I am a mac tìre, or in your language, a son of the countryside.”

[[-Kay-]]

Ivory listened to him speak, watching as his hands worked the blade over. A little thought worked at the back of her mind, to tell him that she was a were-cat and to belittle and nag him a little more, but she didn't. The rasp of the stone on blade set her mind at ease a bit, letting her have something to focus on a little. "Why don't you look at me, Brian Dubh? I am so frightening you must stare at your blade? Shouldn't it be the other way around?" She said, a small teasing smile reaching her lips. "After all, you are a good foot taller than myself and larger. You could injure me without difficulty yet I still watch you like a cat watches a dog from a tree." A small laugh escaped her, amusement running wild through her mind.

[/blockquote]

[phrostphyre]

Brian continued working his sword’s sharpness to cut leather, then stopped. He sheathed it, then drew his dirk and began sharpening it, listening to the changed tone of the rasp of steel on stone. This was lighter and shorter than the sword, and after a moment Brian found his rhythm. He continued to work as he answered the little woman’s questions. Sharp teeth, sharper than normal. So this woman wasn’t a normal human. Brian had heard of the werecats. They seemed able to influence people, events, and in one case he had heard, a war. He suspected this Ivory, as she called herself, to be such a creature. His ignoring of a pretty woman was quite against his nature, however, Brian had a job to do tomorrow and could spend no time wooing and winning. His mouth picked up at one corner, wanting to smile, and then he deigned to answer this creature of legend and night.

”I am a creature of legend and night rarer than yourself. Smell the air around and me. Notice how only you and my men stay near me. In some animal part of them, my men recognize I mean them no harm. In that same animal part, the people around us understand that I have known violence since I was four. Wolves in the Spine know me as friend and willingly run with me. I am a werewolf, my dear young werecat friend. I keep to my work so that I do not lose a finger or limb.

[[-Kay-]]

Ivory smiled with amusement. "I know that you are, what you are. That's one of the things that led me to you. That and your trail of corpses." She said, a teasing tone in her voice. "You speak of the Spine, yet I doubt you truly know it as I do.", her voice losing a bit of it's teasing tone, slipping into a musing one, more dark than the one before. "Perhaps...." she said, her tone slipping into a maddeningly odd one. It was inviting, like a dare. Daring him to get closer and answer the unspoken challenge in her mind. She sat back, eyes surveying him like a hawk sizing up a rabbit. Predatory and vicious. She smirked, a small laugh escaping her at some unspoken joke in her mind. She shook her head and looked at the big black horse that she had considered earlier. It amused her as she turned back, that he should pick the fiery stallion she had just looked at earlier. But her eyes turned back to the man as she let a little brown mouse run over her hand. She lifted it to eye level, putting it back down after a moment. Little things amused her.

[/blockquote]

[phrostphyre]

Brian finished sharpening his dirk. He sheathed it and put the whetstone into his sporran, checked the sun, and sighed. If he left, would this woman follow him? At any other time, the prospect would be like driving a blood maddened wolf further into frenzy, but tomorrow Brian and his men would begin the long ride to Ceunon, to take a look at the local garrison and make sure they needed no help keeping the elves down. It was a mixed city; under the control of King Angrenost, but the Countesses were elves and they surely reported to the Elf Queen. This confused Brian slightly. How that situation had happened, he didn’t know. He did know that were it up to him, they would both be executed for treason. However, Brian was simply a soldier, and a soldier’s lot was to follow orders. This didn’t bother Brian in the least bit; all men paid homage to their father, their King, and their gods. Brian’s father had given his blessing for this “Alagaësian adventure” as he called it, and at the time there had been no Alban High King.

Brian smoothed the badger fur braids at the bottom of his sporran, then leaned back and scratched his beard, picking up where she left off. ”Perhaps, I won’t be here tomorrow. I’m only staying tonight. Whatever you want with me is your business, but I suggest ye conclude it. As soon as my men are sleeping, I intend on getting stinking drunk. We ride before first light tomorrow.”

[[-Kay-]]

]Ivory smirked, a small nod to him as she got up. Her eyes flashed with an amusing light as she turned to leave. "Then I believe I'll bid you goodbye. Until next time, sir. I'm sure this isn't the last I'll see of you. You have an air of destiny about you. Werecats are always drawn to where the next big event will happen. I'm sure I'll see you there." She said, her hand moving to brush over a pendant that hung from her neck, just below the hollow of her throat. It was a Trinity knot made of silver with little lines of gold that twisted in smaller and more intricate knots lined in. She smiled, her voice carrying only a few words to him before she disappeared into the crowd, back towards the horse vendors. "Eiridh tonn air uisge balbh.....Go n-eiri an bothar leat" She moved towards the man who had had the large black horse earlier, handing him a few gold coins for the hellion and a saddle before she moved off to get supplies. She was headed out past the southern edge of the Hadarac, past the Beor Mountains to the Hedarth and the Edda River which she would follow up to Lake Eldor and Du Weldenvarden. She missed the forest of the elves, where magic hung thick in the air like fog and where she could run amok like a little heathen child. A purr almost escaped her as she thought of the forest. Certainly, it would be less expensive to walk there as a cat, but it was much quicker for a horse to cross a country than a cat. Besides, she would be able to curl up and sleep on this massive creature rather than stop. Her hood came down and her mismatched eyes flashed as she purchased a good three dozen arrows from the fletcher. Oh yes, this little 'girl' needed three dozen arrows. Why? Because, she wasn't going to starve, and one simply couldn't live on rats and birds. No, she needed to hunt for deer and such, perhaps a wild goat or something along the edges of the mountains. She sighed, moving through the market, her big black horse in hand. It would be a long while until she was back in Du Weldenvarden, and it would be a sight lonely but atleast it would be fun. She always had been one for adventure.