Storied Nights, Legends and Starshine

[Arlo Creede]

Zi'da 80, Arc 717

They hadn't owned their boat very long, him and Vega. But already Arlo had staked out his favorite place to be on board. Except that it wasn't technically on board at all, but high above it in the crow's nest. The young dreamwalker, traveler, storyteller and follower of Cassion enjoyed the small challenge that it took to get up there, since he was likely as not to bypass the more usual, easier route and flex his acrobatic muscles to reach the highest point of all.

Once he was there though, it was the world around him, all hundred and eighty degrees of it that held his attention fast and fed his imagination. The world looked different from up there. People on the docks, onboard other ships at port, even on the streets of Scalvoris went on their way from one place to another, from task to task, and there was a certain pattern to it. Most times ordered and predictable, but sometimes but rarer, not. It was the young merchant that stepped out of a shop and slipped on the ice that caused a ripple. Or the old woman who dropped her shopping. A dog chasing a cat through the market and upsetting any number of carts.

Anyone else would have been bored, watching ordinary people going about their ordinary lives on a trial to trial basis, trial after trial. But not Arlo. He had a knack for observing ordinary events, ordinary people, but with some trick of the imagination, transforming them into something much more interesting and worth telling.

That trial however, he wasn't looking down at the docks or streets of Scalvoris, but out to sea instead. And up at the sky that had turned dark just a trial before. It was a rare evening in late Zi'da when the sky was clear, the wind wasn't howling and the moons shone as bright as the stars around them. And reflected off the unusually calm surface of the sea. He'd hauled his gittern up with him, strapped across his back, and brought along a notebook and a lantern. He'd lately found a red colored globe for his lantern, having discovered that it let through enough light to write by, but not so much that it inteferred with watching the night sky.

That was what Arlo was doing when he heard a strange sound coming from the water, down around the ship's hull. Sort of a chanting, barking sound and leaning as far over as he dared, it took a few trills to figure out what it was. Seals, it appeared. Fat, gray ones with curious faces, poking up out of the water and peering up at him. It had been arcs, he'd only been a very young boy, but Arlo suddenly remembered something his mother had told him. She'd said that if you asked a seal nicely, he'd carry a message off to a loved one who'd gone before you. It was a silly legend, he'd figured, and hadn't put any store in it at all. But just in case it was true, he whispered down, "If you see my mother, tell her I'm doing alright. More than alright." Next he looked, the seals were gone.

Looking back at the sea, off towards the horizon, he caught a glimpse of something more solid than simple moonlight reflecting off the water. Silver or white, he couldn't be sure. Smooth from one end to the other, rounded. Arlo had never seen an iceberg before but at first he assumed that's what it was. But as he picked up his spyglass for a closer look, the thing blew a plume in the air, rolled over and then it was gone. A whale. He'd never seen one of those either before that night.

Just a few trills later he was looking back at the stars. He didn't care much about the science behind it, didn't understand it either. What captured the young man's imagination was that the night sky was filled with stories and legends just waiting to be told. Not the stars themselves. Those were fixed. Moving he guessed but in relation to one another they seemed fixed. But when they got together in the imagination of someone looking up, and arranged themselves in a particular way, there was plenty to tell.

Constellations, was how one of the books he'd studied had referred to them. The biqaj apparently had names for any number of them, and they'd turned those names into legends of their own. But like laying back at the grass and making shapes out of clouds, it seemed all in the eye of the beholder. Arlo wasn't biqaj, didn't know the legends or stories that they plucked from the skies. He was more inclined to make his own. Using the dim red light of his lantern then to write by, he busied himself with dotting out notable looking stars on paper, connecting them into what he saw in his own mind's eye until such a time that a story began to take shape.

[Pegasus]

Scalvoris.

It was a strange place, here at the edge of the world. Cold, there was no doubting it, but that added to it. Filled with unusual things, strange places. An island of adventures, no doubt ~ but such a place was dangerous. It could hold you in place, trap you with it's very appeal to the adventurous. A gilded cage? Maybe, for people like Arlo Creede. But Arlo would not be caged, not like that and so he had bought a boat, ready to sail. To leave. To go to the next place and wander, always seeking, always learning.

Always hungry.

Arlo watched the ocean and the stars, as the last of the light left the sky for the trial. The strange barking of the seals, the sight of the whale, all of them fed into his imagination. Then, a group of five manatee, unique to the place, drifted past. As they did, they were floating on their backs, tiny pinpricks of light covering them. They reflected off the moons'light and it was a beautiful sight.

Then, Arlo's attention turned to the stars, constellations and the stories contained within them. Whatever it was, that night, it was like his imagination had been set into overdrive. The stars moved in front of him, swirling into shapes and the stories almost wrote themselves, it felt like. One, then another, falling in on him and his hands were not fast enough to keep up. As the patterns swirled around it felt like his brain wasn't fast enough to keep up with itself. Yet, somehow he got them all written down.

And then, he saw him. Only then. As he wrote the last word of one of the stories he was noting, Arlo saw the man. He knew him, of course, he'd met him first in Desnind, shared stories and a drink with him. Then, again, more lately. Standing on the deck, looking out to sea, he turned and watched as Arlo made his way down. A broad smile greeted the young man.

"Hello, Arlo," Cassion said, laughter dancing in his eyes. He motioned around to the boat. "Yours? Are you planning an adventure?" It seemed like a funny question, but then his gaze turned more serious as he looked at Arlo and awaited the answer. It seemed like it might be important, that answer. Once he'd given it, though, whatever it was, there was another question. This one, a more familiar one ~ he'd asked him something similar the last time they'd met, after all. "Tell me then," the Immortal asked, "what has happened since last I saw you?" He looked at Arlo eagerly, expecting ~ maybe demanding ~ a good tale or two.

The boy of an arc ago had promised such, after all.

[Arlo Creede]

The way Arlo saw it, he and Vega could stay around Scalvoris for another couple of seasons, even arcs and not see all that there was to see. Experience the extent of it. Such a strange place with any number of mysteries to uncover, discoveries to make. It was the staying still for so long though that was beginning to make both of them feel restless. Maybe that was why he'd turned to observing the sea and the stars that night. Out there, was more that hadn't been explored yet. Maybe some of it never would be.

It might be that in a way it was better, when it came to the night sky, the stars and whatever else was out there. It was the wondering that appealed and fed his imagination. Were they stars or were they moons like the ones he knew already, but father away? Or were the millions, maybe billions of them other worlds just like Idalos but different? Maybe someone like him was sitting up on a crow's nest out there, looking back at Idalos and was wondering exactly the same thing as him. He didn't want anyone learned in the ways of the heavens to take it upon themselves to explain it. Knowing for sure seemed boring in this case. Wondering. That was the thing.

The seals had got his attention by barking up at him, like pups begging for treats. The manatees had come along more quietly and he'd watched them for a few trills, marveling at the way their bellies shone in the moonlight. Their expressions had struck him though he knew little else about them. "Grinning down at them before they disappeared, he'd called out, "Why so gloomy? Cheer up." Soon enough though he'd turned his attention back to the stars.

Maybe it was the cold night air that had made his head clearer than usual. Or could be that the prospect of him and Vega setting sail at the end of Cylus had lit a new spark that had fanned the flames of his own imagination. Whatever it was, inspiration flowed like waves washing over him, while the sea all the way to the horizon was calm. Even the stars themselves seemed to oblige him by arranging themselves just so, then arranging themselves again on an alternate whim. When it happened like that, Arlo's mind moved faster than his writing hand, and his penmanship suffered. But it didn't matter. He'd remember anyway.

How long had he been standing there? It was the first thought that raced through Arlo's mind when he looked up from his notes and back down at the deck. Oh, he knew who that was. Even without seeing his face, Arlo knew. He'd never be sure just how that was, but it was Cassion himself standing there. The realization had both startled him and at the same time, filled him with a sense of...well he couldn't have exactly described it if he'd been pressed to. Wonder maybe, that the Immortal had deemed it worth his time to visit with him again? Though whether it would be for the better or worse, he wouldn't try to guess. It was possible that he'd tripped up somewhere along the way as a devoted follower, and Cassion had found it objectionable enough that he'd come to have a stern chat with him.

Cassion smiled up at him though and it was encouraging. Grabbing the things he'd hauled up there and flinging them across his back, it was more as if he slid, swung and tumbled down through the ropes rather than climbed. Six of one, half the other, it might have made no difference in regards to how long it took. But the ladder wasn't the route that suited him best. When he got there, he dipped his head in a gesture of deep respect for the Immortal. "Hello," he said. "I'm more honored than I can say," he added, in regards to the Immortal's presence there. "Mine?" he asked, then looked around him and nodded. "Mine and Vega's together," he said, then recalling the first time they'd met, he added, "You might remember her."

"Once the weather clears up, we've been planning to set sail," he revealed and then glanced back up at the skies, considering. He'd noticed before that up there on the clearest nights, there was a swath of stars making way across the sky, so numerous and close together than sometimes they looked like a cloud, or a plume of steam rising off of one horizon, and extending beyond the other. "I've sometimes thought that, up there, looks something like a highway through the night sky. Maybe we'll follow it and see where it goes," he figured, then looked back to the Immortal. Would Cassion know where it went? Maybe. Travel was after all this Immortal's domain.

They might never know where that path in the sky led to, he was quick to admit. But between here and there, they were sure to find any number of interesting things. Things to discover, trouble to get into and stories to take along with them. And that in his mind was rather the point. The next question, the expectation of a story as promised, came with it an odd sort of problem. It wasn't so much that Arlo couldn't think of a single thing to tell the Immortal. It was that there so many of them. If they'd been indoors, he might have offered Cassion a hot cup of tea. But two men standing on deck, out in the cold...It called for stronger stuff. Pulling a flask out of his pocket, he offered it to the Immortal, was he interested in indulging. Good bourbon whiskey. The kind that went down smooth as silk and warmed you all the way from the top of the head to the toenails.

"The locals here talk about a woodland nearby called Sweetvine. Most of 'em when they've been too deep in their cups," Arlo added with something of a grin, "The stories they tell, you'd think it was all tall tales and them seeing things when they'd gone stumbling home after dark. Like honey that flows like a river and lions black as night with stars in their manes and coats." But turned out, he added then, they weren't stories at all. He'd been there, him and Vega. In just a few trials, they'd fought off deer with vampire like teeth and glowing eyes, he'd crossed swords with a band of fanatics that wanted to burn Vega at the stake for being a witch.

They'd used their swords to swat bees out of the air in the dead of winter. Bees that shouldn't have been awake at all, but were as big as the melons in his mother's garden and as aggressive as vipers. Then there were the bears guarding the honey that did in fact flow like a river, and levitated off the ground as if there was a permanent up-drift beneath them, all at their command. He'd even wrestled with a bear before it was all said and done, he told Cassion with a wide grin. "But it was worth it," Arlo declared, digging into his sack and coming up with a sealed jar, its contents gleaming gold in the moonlight. "Best honey I ever tasted." He handed Cassion the jar, one of two that he'd brought back, and a gift for the Immortal.

[Pegasus]

"The redhead?" A deep laugh escaped the Immortal's chest, he looked at Arlo with a sidelong glance and the smile on his face spoke of camaraderie. "Good work," he said, and then said no more on that matter. A highway through the stars was an interesting topic and the young man's imagination couldn't be faulted. Nor could his hospitality and Cassion took the flask with a nod of acknowledgement and took a swig. The burn of the Bourbon hit the back of his throat and he handed the flask back as the warmth of the liquid did its job.

The stories of the bees and the bears caused a chuckle, but he took the honey and looked at it, holding the jar up to the moons and nodding. "I've tasted this before. It's good. Many thanks." It was almost solemn, the way that he put the jar into one of his many (apparently) pockets. Each time that he'd met the young man, now, he'd given a gift, and always a good one. Cassion's gaze turned briefly to the stars and then he attended once more to the mortal next to him. "Let's go for a drink, Arlo. Talk with some of those tellers of tales, in their cups or not." With a companionable pat on the shoulder, which might conceivably leave a bruise, the Immortal turned and walked off the Wanderlust

Assuming that Arlo went with him, they made their way through from the docks and towards the main area of Scalvoris Town. No matter the time, there were lights burning in windows, people on the street. It was cold, though, and the majority of the people were bundled up against the cold, moving quickly to get from where they were going to where they wanted to be. Smoke curled upwards from chimneys, mirroring the icy exhalation of those who walked by. Cassion strode alongside Arlo, his eyes roaming over the place, watching all around them.

As they left the docks area, they were walking towards the local Tavern - Cassion seemed to know the way, perhaps unsurprisingly ~ when there were sounds of a scuffle in an alleyway they were passing. A glance down there saw a scene which was certainly not a friendly bar brawl, but was a group of men surrounding a young woman. There were seven men in total - five surrounding her, watching the other two. Of those two, a tall and strong man was holding the woman up, who seemed to be at the very least semi-conscious - although she didn't seem injured. but it was the smaller of the two men that all of the others seemed to be observing. He was small, smaller than the others anyway, and he had, in his hands, a scalpel.

There was no hesitation from Cassion, no pause to consider safety or wondering if the fact that they were so very outnumbered might make a difference. Probably, in fairness, this kind of thing happened to him on at least a semi-regular basis - and there seemed to be an equal lack of consideration as to whether Arlo was with him or not; of course he was. No sooner had the pair stepped into the alley than one of the five watchers spotted them. "You two. Get lost."

Three of the five moved forward to meet them, drawing weapons as they did and Cassion grinned. Two of them moved in to attack the Immortal, not knowing that was who it was, one with a sword and the other a mace. Arlo, meanwhile, was face to face with a man wielding a sword in one hand and slicing for him viciously. He wasn't messing around at all and he was fast. The knife was aimed to slice across Arlo's side, but the sword? He appeared to be trying to take Arlo's head off with that.

[Arlo Creede]

"That's her," Arlo said and grinned when the Immortal spoke of Vega, though he made no mention of what had passed before between them. Good luck, he figured, rather than good work. And if there was any work come after in the form of their tempers clashing, now and again, it was more than worth it. In fact, oddly Arlo thrived on it. Hopefully Cassion wouldn't take it upon himself, should the two meet again, to take her in his arms and plant one on her. Arlo might have to rearrange the face of any other man who tried it. To even think that way, was it otherwise, would be awkward and daunting at the least. The bourbon however did go down smooth and once he'd taken a swallow he pushed the cork back down and dropped the flask in his pocket.

Royal honey, he thought it was what they called the stuff. Not common either, considering how hard it was to get it. It might be plentiful, flowing out of those rocks like it did. But scooping any of it up was to defy death itself. It was strange though, Arlo guessed, the way he viewed offerings to Cassion in particular. A gift in a sense, sure. But to him, due to his devotion, what was his was as good as the Immortal's. But the tavern? How many men or women were asked to go have a drink at a local drinking hole? Probably not many, he guessed. But that was Cassion's way.

Of course even with an Immortal at his side, Arlo never went anywhere without being armed. He'd taken off his sword before climbing up to the crow's nest, but put it on again as they left the Wanderlust. He had a knife in his boot, and his pistol crossbow, compact as it was, inside the front fold of his coat as usual.

He had a knack for finding trouble wherever he went, him and Vega both. It would foolish, anytime at all, that it wouldn't find him. Most people with any sense were indoors this time of the evening. Whether it was gathered in groups at the inns or taverns, or curled up by their fires. With the except he guessed of those that were traveling from one to the other or back again. A few spare brave souls. Or those who were out and looking for trouble. Probably the best time for that he figured, since the guards were more likely to take refuge from the cold as well. It paid to keep a sharp lookout, and not allow himself to get lazy. It didn't come as any real surprise then when it was trouble they stumbled across. Come to think of it, with Cassion at his side, maybe it had been even more likely.

If it had been just men down that alley, either drunkenly brawling or one group of troublemakers versus another, Arlo might have left them to it. But if there was one thing he just couldn't abide, it was anyone who preyed on the weak or defenseless. That poor woman was a prime example. There were seven of them, but it didn't give him any more pause than to calculate what was the best way to approach the problem. He stepped into the alleyway without a second thought, right beside Cassion. Get lost? No chance.

Two went for the Immortal, unknowingly, and one set his sights on him. He was plenty for the moment, considering he was armed twice, two handed, and looked perfectly capable of fighting that way. Arlo could have as easily drawn his sword before the man took two steps in his direction, and he might have avoided both blades with some fancy acrobatic maneuvers. He might still need to. But there were four left even if he downed the first, and the most expedient means of elimination, in the short term, seemed the wiser one.

Before they'd stepped into that alley, he'd reached inside the front panel of his coat and released the safety on his pistol crossbow, there in easy reach. As he and Cassion stepped in, he'd hooked a thumb on his belt, just the length of a finger from the bow. Without ever taking his eyes off his opponent, just one step by the lout, he whipped the bow out, raised it and fired straight into the man's throat. After dropping him, that's when Arlo dropped the bow and drew his sword.

[Pegasus]

There was no hesitation from either of them and as Arlo and his unusual companion stepped forward, so too did three of the men. Arlo didn't wait for the one with twin weapons to be close enough, choosing instead to raise his pistol crossbow and fire. The young man had become a lot better with a bow and he shot the man, squarely in the throat.

He dropped.

That left six of them in total and, as Arlo's immediate opponent fell in a trickle of blood which would fountain should anyone pull the bolt from his neck, he heard the half-roar, half-cheer which Cassion gave as he entered into hand to hand with his two opponents. The Immortal fought with the same gusto, energy and absolute commitment to the right here and now as he did everything. Whether it was done to help him, or to hinder them or maybe just from the sheer feeling of the moment, it certainly unnerved the men who expected more of a fear response from the two of them, and got it from neither.

Arlo didn't have a chance to see how, but there was a flurry of movement next to him and, as he pulled his sword, the one with a mace who had attacked Cassion literally flew past him and crashed against the wall. Impacting about three foot up, he then slid down and landed in a heap ~ he didn't move again.

And that meant that, as the one still in front of Cassion also fell to the floor, of the seven who had been there moments before there were now four. The one holding the woman dropped her, throwing her casually to one side where she landed among some boxes and crates. In that moment, chaos broke out. A few things happened simultaneously.

Cassion charged forward, not hesitating for a trill. Now, that isn't to suggest that Arlo was necessarily hesitating, but he had taken the time to draw a weapon, which his companion seemed to not have done. As Arlo drew that sword and, presumably, moved himself, the smallest of the four remaining men, the one who had a scalpel and who had been about to carve into the woman pointed at Arlo and yelled. "MINE!"

Except, it wasn't a point, Arlo would realise quickly. The straight-razor, scalpel thing flashed in the darkness, heading straight towards him. There was something about that small, wiry guy who had thrown it. The very naming of Arlo as his target meant that the remaining three rushed at Cassion, even as Cassion rushed at them.

The wiry man threw his scalpel and that was Arlo's first concern, but even as he did it, he stepped forward, pulling two more long, vicious looking knives from his belt. If Arlo noticed such things, the man moving towards him had a fluidity, even gracefulness in his body which was rare. The knife in the air flashed and would, if Arlo didn't move out of the way of it, embed itself into his stomach. Even if he moved, unless he flung himself almost literally flat on the floor (thereby making himself a lot more vulnerable, and leaving Cassion to it), it would slice across his arm. He had that wonderful measurement of time, the split second, to decide what to do in terms of taking, avoiding completely but leaving himself vulnerable, or lessening the impact.The man who was moving forward didn't stop, didn't pause and Arlo got to see the expression of anticipation on his face.

And his eyes?

Oh they were the eyes of a psychopath. He smiled at Arlo as he moved, quickly, towards him. Fast. Pulling his hand back, he seemed to be ready to throw one of the two daggers as he did, but he was risking it, being as close as they were.

[Arlo Creede]

Not for the first time, Arlo considered that he might want to pick up a knack for two handed fighting. But he'd done well enough the last time he'd gone up against someone who could do it and do it well. And this time at least, his pistol crossbow and quick thinking had done the trick. It wouldn't, always. He didn't have the leisure to think about that though. From the sounds of it, Cassion was thoroughly enjoying his half, or greater half of the fight. It took a lot to heft a grown man up and send him flying through the air after all. It got Arlo's blood pumping and he was more focused than fearful. But again, he might enjoy it much more, was he as difficult to kill as he figured an Immortal like Cassion was.

It never occurred to him to back out though and he hadn't wasted any time storing his bow after he'd fired it. Instead he'd dropped it on the ground and reached for his sword. When Cassion rushed forward, Arlo advanced, eyeing the madman that claimed him as his. What he really had his eye on was the scalpel in the man's hand. Logic said you didn't bring a knife to a sword fight. Unless you intended to throw it, much like Arlo had fired a bolt from his bow. A scalpel in this case was as good as a throwing knife, and unless the bastard was an utter madman...and he might be in the young man's reckoning, that's what he intended to do.

Based on all that, Arlo anticipated the move before he even caught the glint of movement, and he moved fast, using his acrobatic prowess to dip and roll away from the trajectory and then back to his feet. Course, he could only do it so many times without the man getting lucky. It was the odds then, the number of successful evasive moves versus the number of knives in the man's arsenal. Sooner or later somebody was going to get lucky and the other one unlucky. He had another problem too, in that before Cassion had shown up, he'd expected to spend the evening at stargazing and hadn't bothered with leather armor. That was before an Immortal had invited him out on a lark.

By the time he rolled back onto his feet the man already had two more knives in his hand and was closing in fast on him. It was a matter not of avoiding a strike all together but reducing the damage best he could. If he dropped completely and avoided the first knife, he'd be wide open to the second. He had a choice then so Arlo ducked and weaved to the side, risking a lesser injury, hopefully, than one intended to kill. And since the madman was still closing in on him, he used the momentum required to avoid a more lethal blow to his advantage, by bringing his sword around fast, up and angled, meant to open the man wide from below the rib cage angled up to his throat.

[Pegasus]

There is a clarity which is hard to describe when one is engaged in mortal combat. The rest of the world falls away and there is only you, your opponent and the ever-looming shadow of death. In this instance, there were also the sounds of the other fight going on, although he couldn't see what was happening, unless he risked all to do so. It was probably fair to assume that he should just concentrate on the psychopath with the knives. Because the psychopath was certainly concentrating on him.

The first move, the acrobatic dodge of the scalpel, worked beautifully, but Arlo's judgement was correct ~ the second one he needed to make an immediate call on and he did that. As he did, ducking and weaving to the side, Arlo felt the knife slice across his arm and, by all the Immortals, it was sharp. Of course, that was rather the way of things for knives, but this one was a very, very fine example of a knife, sharpened to a razor edge with every detail of its design being about making killing more likely.

And, like it was coated in salt, it stung.

However, Arlo really didn't have time to worry about that, nor did he do so. He swung his sword and it was a beautiful strike, well aimed and well delivered. And yet, it didn't work. Now, that is not to say that it didn't hit, because it did. But Arlo felt his blow contact against armour and it did not pass through. It was dark, the man in question was wearing dark clothes and they were loose, but underneath them was definitely some kind of armour and, judging by how easily it stopped Arlo's blade, it was fine.

The slice of the blade is only one part of a blow, however, and the skill of Arlo's blow, his strength and the quality of the sword gifted to him by U'frek all combined. Whilst the blow did not cut his opponent, he was lifted off his feet and the wind knocked out of him. The armour stopped it from being a lethal cut, but it caused the man to let out his breath in a great whoosh and could not get it back. He stepped back, trying to defend and for the first time Arlo's opponent seemed to realise that there were screams coming from around them, and they were not Cassion's. His people were dead, dying or sliding down walls and the two unknown men had cut a swathe through them in a matter of moments.

So, the psychopath did the only logical thing. Unable to breathe, with a sheer determination to live, he dropped his weapons and raised his hands in surrender. His eyes on Arlo were knowing, taunting. He would live to fight another trial and when he did?

Well, when he did, those who stood against him would regret it. But right now? "Yield... I.... yield..." he wheezed.

[Arlo Creede]

Arlo didn't need to look in order to know that Cassion was doing alright with his half of the fight, or truth told more than half. Under ordinary circumstances, he'd like nothing better than to stand back and watch the carnage. But he had problems of his own. It was enough to know that if Cassion couldn't hold his own, then he wasn't Cassion at all and had no business calling himself an Immortal.

By choosing to try and get out of the way of an incoming blade, thrown through the air, he knew he was choosing the lesser of two injuries. Arlo didn't like it, but he wasn't anything close to Immortal. It turned out to be a judgment call that paid off, but Aelig's nuts that knife was sharp and it stung. Out of sorts with how much it should have, had it been a knife brought to just an acceptable edge and nothing more. That wasn't the case here. It was like a paper cut times a hundred or more.

He'd ignored that though because he had to in order to swing his own blade. And while it didn't cut through the man's armor, it least it knocked him back, as good as down on his backside if not literally. It didn't mean though that Arlo would let down his guard, since he didn't trust the man not to try something else. And there was always a chance someone else would be popping out of the shadows. When the madman yielded though? It put Arlo in an awkward position, and there was no question in his mind that the other man knew it. The bastard was relying on honor to prevent Arlo from cutting him down. And it was true, that just wasn't done.

On the other hand, Arlo wasn't stupid enough to think the man would just go away and forget the night ever happened. If he walked away he'd do it with a grudge, and maybe come back round again. He might, but Arlo himself would probably be gone from Scalvoris once Cylus was gone. "Go," he snarled, but didn't lower his sword just yet. "Now, before I change my mind." And he wouldn't put down his sword until all of them were either down, or gone. And only then, he put the blade away.

He looked towards Cassion, fully expecting the Immortal to have gone unscathed. Once that was established, while he probably needed to tear off a bit of his shirt in order to wrap up the cut on his arm, the first thing he did was hurry towards the place where the woman had been tossed aside, to make sure she was alright. Help her if she needed it at the least. That was, if she hadn't already taken the opportunity already to have gotten up and run safely away.

[Pegasus]

The man with the scalpel looked worried, then disbelieving, then like he couldn't quite believe his luck. His eyes widened slightly and then he turned and ran, obviously not having expected to be given that reprieve. Arlo turned to look and he saw Cassion bend, picking up a pebble from the floor. He threw it, almost casually, and the pebble in question hit "The Doctor" on the back of the head, causing him to crumple and fall. With a grin at Arlo, Cassion spoke. "Yielding is one thing, but let the guards find and deal with them. He'll only hurt someone else, if he leaves." Looking around at the carnage the two of them had wrought in a very short space of time, the Immortal laughed. "Or he'll try, depending on who the someone is! Aha! Rescue the damsel, shall we?"

But the woman in question was gone, run off it seemed judging by the tracks. Cassion looked around and surveyed the situation. Then, he turned to Arlo and a deep frown crossed his face. "You're injured. Let me see." He took hold of Arlo's arm and examined it. "You'll have a scar, I'd say. Every scar a story, after all!" Evidently, Cassion had seen worse. "The guard will come along, or not. Lets go get a drink and patch you up."

Assuming that Arlo went along with that (and honestly, tying off the cut before that might be a good idea), it meant that a few minutes later, he was sitting in a bar with Cassion, drinks in front of them and watching the world go by. Arlo was right that Cassion seemed uninjured. With a large ale next to him and a large knife on the table, Cassion was holding Arlo's arm and examining it. "Not bad."

Then, he sat back and lifted his mug, "to a lifelong adventure!" The immortal took a long drink from the ale and put back on the table with a satisfied smile. "So, the first time we met, I told you to travel lots, love unconditionally, work hard, and play harder. Sounds like you've done those things. And in the times I've seen you since, also." He looked at the young man, his gaze intense and then a broad smile crossed his face. "And in every place, you've left me trinkets, told stories and had adventures. Lived your life. It's good." Glancing appreciatively as the waitress walked by, he turned back to Arlo. "Is there anything you wanted to ask, before I take my leave?"

Cassion then moved and picked up his knife, cutting his own arm. It was a small enough nick, but the blood was deep red. "Well, Arlo. I'd say it's time, wouldn't you?" Cassion grinned and clasped Arlo's arm. Where their blood mingled, Arlo felt a change start to come over him, subtle, but nonetheless there. "Go, Arlo, live your life. Every bit, every trill, never satisfied or finished. Live completely and make me proud." Then, he drained his ale. "I should go. There are many roads untraveled. Go well, Arlo Creede."

Should Arlo look, where the Immortal had touched him, blood to blood, the wound had closed but in it's place was a vivid scar.