Ha. This story kind of took on a soul of its own. I initially wrote this because I needed something to relax with and just work on getting back into the saddle writing-wise (I've had terrible writer's block for a while now). This is un-beta-ed, but I think I caught most if not all mistakes.

Anyway, let me know what you think. I'm not all that sure where this is going, so I'm going to be enjoying the ride with you guys. Not sure how much I'll post until I see how people react to it-I'll probably post a handful of chapters and see what happens from there. (I feel like I'm holding my story ransom for reviews/favorites/follows/whatever, but I swear I'm not haha).

Let me know what you think. Critics are welcome and encouraged.

~Inkraven


Chapter 1: Enter one Confused Girl

The first thing I did as I woke up was roll to my side and puke my guts up. Spectacular. But I guess I wasn't puking my guts out as much as I was expelling water from my lungs so I could breathe. I wheezed and sucked in air greedily as I tried to get oxygen back to my brain. After a few deep breaths and forcing my heart rate to go down, I could finally think better or, at least, more coherently.

I wiped my eyes so I could see better, but I wasn't quite sure what I was seeing. Um . . . a beach? If the taste of salt wasn't enough, then the fact that I could hear the sound of crashing waves behind me and feel water hitting my legs at a steady rhythm was proof enough. Which confused me beyond reason because . . .

But then something else got my heart racing. I couldn't remember the because. I sat up, despite my weak state, and began raking my brain for information, but all I got were bits and pieces, nothing that really fit together and nothing that really helped. It was all mostly sounds and jagged images and feelings. Like right now, I had a feeling I hadn't been near water because . . . because I hated water! That's right. So how in the world did I end up waking up on a beach?

I snarled in frustration when I realized I couldn't access that information. Not yet, anyway. Another fear hit me hard. What if I could never remember? What if everything before this moment was lost to me? I started hyperventilating, but locked down on it quick, and I realized I was doing a specific rhythm of breathing. Was I . . . was I unconsciously calming myself down? So this had to be a regular thing, for it to just kick in, right? Oh, fantastic. I had anxiety issues.

But it was helping, the breathing exercises, so I sat there and tried to think logically and reasonably—I needed to know what I still knew and what I didn't. And what I knew was shockingly little. I knew names of random objects, but for some, I wasn't able to draw up a mental picture. I knew my name was Emma Fletcher. I knew I hated water—big bodies of it terrified me. I knew I liked looking at the stars and I had a family, but not who consisted of my family. And really, that was about it. Most of what I knew helped little to nothing in my current predicament.

I struggled to my feet, sick and tired of being in one spot for what felt like eternity. I was scared but I was also incredibly frustrated—which I found made me aggressive. Something else I learned about myself—I probably had temper problems. I sighed and looked down, noting the slight curve to my tummy. And I mostly likely didn't get much exercise.

I took a look around me, to get my bearings, but nothing was familiar. I mean, I just got this sense of wrong about everything around me. Nothing gave a familiar vibe, not the trees or rocks or sand. Suddenly, movement caught my eye. I turned to take a better look and sighed in relief when I saw people walking down the sand, towards my position. I waved my hands and forced my weak limbs to head their way.

"Hello! I need help! Hello?"

But as the distance between us got shorter and I could see them better, I froze. These people—men, were massive. Easily towering over me even at this distance and they . . . had horns. Some of them broken off and little more than stumps, but still . . . did I . . . ? I touched my head. Nope, no horns here. The word human popped into my head. I was human. As soon as I looked at the men approaching me, the term, not human popped into my head. The closer they got, the more I noticed, too. They looked . . . rough. I have no other words to better describe what I was seeing. And they were covered in weapons. And my brain gave me the name for each and every weapon they carried. Spear, short sword, broadsword, and on it went. Why was I so familiar with weapons? It actually troubled me that I knew them so well.

But then I snapped to. All around, these men . . . things . . . creatures were not too friendly to look at. They had a permanent scowl on their face and they stalked towards me, never once responding to my calls. And that's when the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I felt fear wash over me. I didn't think they were interested in my plight or helping, especially as one grabbed his broadsword and freed it from its harness on his back.

I started taking steps back, fear turning into terror. As I did, they barked at me a single sound. Was it a word in their language? I didn't care. I turned and fled. Which was dumb. Incredibly stupid, really, with how weak I was and how fit they looked. I heard running feet and one easily caught hold of me, grabbing my hair and jerking me back. I screamed from the pain and stumbled back until I landed on my backside.

"Please, please, please," Kept spilling out of my lips.

He smiled, actually smiled, and I froze for a moment as I spotted his incredibly sharp teeth. I screamed and started struggling like mad to get away. They were going to eat me! Why else would they have teeth like that? Why—


Loud raised voices. Scenery going by quickly. I just want to run away, away, away away.

I woke slowly to the sound of a crackling fire, with a head that felt like it had been split open. Maybe it had and that's when I realized the creature had clubbed me in the head with something. But . . . I was still alive. Why was I still alive? I had had a feeling so certain it was almost tangible that they meant me every harm in the world.

As I tried to get my wits back about me, I heard noise. I opened my eyes and was greeted by one of their faces. I choked back a scream and sobbed. So they were saving me for something. This one reached for me and I flinched, which made him hesitate. Which was . . . weird.

"I . . . only mean to help."

It took my brain a few tries to comprehend that he had spoken and in a language I understood, granted it was heavily accented and seemed to pain him to speak. I stared at him, dumbstruck. Granted his voice was rough and deep and terrifying, but . . .

"Your head is wounded. It must be tended to."

And just like that I was reminded of my pounding head.

I opened my mouth and found my mouth paper dry. I tried to wet my mouth, but found I had no spit to wet it with. Seeing my dilemma, the creature leaned over and returned with a wooden bowl? cup? in his hand.

"This is . . . ah, helps with pain. Drink."

He wrapped an arm around me to help me sit up and I was frozen in his grip, kind of like a paralyzed prey in a predator's grasp. He put the cup to my lips, tipping it so the liquid hit my closed mouth. I glanced at his face, but couldn't tell whether he meant harm or not, it was so impassive. Deciding I had nothing to lose at this point, I took a tentative sip of the concoction. I nearly spit it out. But he put it right back to my lips, giving me no choice but to drink.

I took one massive gulp and downed it as fast as I could so as little of it as possible hit my tongue.

Once he was satisfied, he took the cup away and set it aside as I made a gagging face.

"W-what was that?" I gasped.

He shrugged and remained silent. Oh, good. I just got poisoned by a dullard. Fantastic.

. . . boy, I was snarky.

I forced my mind to focus. The creature was now tending to my head, forcing my face to look down as he checked the back of my skull. I winced as he touched the sensitive flesh. He snorted and grabbed some, I don't know, medical supplies I guess.

"What are you going to do with me?" I ventured to ask after several minutes of tense silence and his ministrations.

He paused, then continued. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" I asked, confused. What the hell was going on?

He grunted again and said nothing.

"But . . . then why did you chase me? Why did you hit me and kidnap me?" My voice was rising at the end, hysteria and panic taking hold. I forced myself to calm down.

"I did not hit you." He said vehemently. "Tal'Vashoth. They were the ones who attacked you."

"Tal . . . what? What the hell is that?" I gulped, but couldn't stop myself from asking, "Aren't you Talwhatever? You look like one."

"No!" he snarled, cowing me into silence. Apparently he was sensitive about the subject. Then he sighed and his whole demeanor changed. I glanced at him and saw his body slumped. "I am . . . I am Tal'Vashoth. But I am not one of them." He gritted through his teeth. "They are lost, no longer grey, but black. Wallowing in impurity."

He finished and started cleaning off the cloth he had been using. I was really confused now. If these Tal-people were the ones whom I had seen and had knocked me out . . . and this guy wasn't one of them, then . . .

"Wait. Wait wait wait. If you're not one of them, then . . . where are they now? Did they . . . did they hand me over to you?"

He glanced at me. "Dead." He said. I stared at him in shock. Dead? I mean, I can't say I wasn't somewhat vindicated, but . . . dead? Death? I . . . wasn't there some kind of justice system? You know, juries and judges or whatever? I gaped at the thing in front of me, my mind refusing to work. This man had . . . had killed people! He was a murderer! Would it be just as easy to turn around and kill me? Not noticing or caring for my distress, he continued. "They had aligned themselves with some slavers. They were going to take you to their employers when I came upon them."

My mind screeched to a halt. SLAVERS? As in people who dealt with SLAVES? That gave me a feeling of wrongness so strong it knocked the wind from me. Did that then mean wherever I had come from that they had no slaves? Thank God! But then I fully realized what he had said and I gaped at him anew. "You . . . saved me."

He grunted and finished cleaning up, standing and walking to a fire not too far away. This creature saved me. From a fate I wasn't too sure was better or worse than death. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had a vague notion of what slavery could entail and I shivered at the raw cruelty of those simple notions.

Suddenly overwhelmed, I burst into tears. "Thank you." I cried. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

He seemed oddly uncomfortable. He shrugged and stirred something in a pot that was hanging off a trifold above the fire. Sighing, he came back to me with a vial in his hand. He gestured vaguely at my face. "You have cuts on your face."

"Oh," I sniffled.

He poured some kind of thick ointment on his fingers and proceeded to smear it on certain places on my face. I flinched but when I tried to pull away he growled. A most monstrous sound that had me freezing for the remainder of his treatment. When he was done, he observed his work and snorted in satisfaction. From a bag not too far from me, he tucked away the vial and pulled out two wooden bowls. He went to the fire and ladled out some of the soup or stew or whatever it was in the pot, into the bowls. As he did so, I studied the creature that had saved me.

From the fading sun and the flickering light of the fire, I was able to make out that he had the same greyish, metallic skin tone and snow white hair as the others. He had scars all along his body, old and silvery. Some looking like they had been quite nasty when he had sustained them. My eyes slid to his head and I was a bit surprised to find he only had one horn. When he turned to head back to me, I saw why—one was broken pretty close to the base.

He sat next to me and grunted as he handed me the bowl. I watched him as he tipped the bowl to his mouth. I turned to my own stew and found that it at least looked . . . good. Tentatively, I sipped some of it and gasped. He looked at me in alarm.

I blushed under his gaze and muttered, "Either I'm really hungry or you're an amazing cook."

I flinched as the stew burned my tongue, but gulped it down as fast as I could. There were a few pieces, meat and what looked like potato, stuck to the bowl, so I shoveled it out with my hand. When I was done, my companion extended his hand to take the bowl. As I handed it to him, I realized something.

"What's your name? You've done all of this for me and I don't even know your name." As an afterthought, I added, "My name is Emma, by the way. Or at least I think it is."

The big guy shrugged. "I have no name."

I raised my eyebrows at that. "How come?"

He looked at me and I could tell that he was annoyed. Yeesh. Then again, he didn't seem like the talkative sort. "I only had a title, but I cast that aside when I turned from the Qun."

I flinched—I could tell by the tone of his voice that that little gem was a sore spot for him. Even if I had no idea what he was talking about. "But . . . if I need to get your attention . . . well, it feels rude to shout 'big guy' or 'not Tal-whatever,' you know?"

He snorted and left me once again and this time filled only my bowl and returned. I thanked

him as he gave me my bowl and set out to wash his. I sat there in silence, mulling over some thoughts. "Then . . . can I call you by whatever title you went by?"

He glared at me.

"Ooookay. I'll take that as a no. Come on, there has to be something I can call you by."

He paused in his cleaning and for a while, no one said anything. It was a bit awkward and for a minute, I thought I had done something awful. I had no idea what, but something.

"Maraas. You may call me Maraas."

It was an odd name, but I think it was mostly because it was from his language—at least the way he said it made it sound like it wasn't English. English! That was the name of the language I was speaking.

"What does it mean?"

"It means I am nothing, that I am alone."

I stared at him, open-mouthed. He hadn't said it with any hint of irony or that he was joking—just a simple state of fact. I quickly closed my mouth and suddenly lost my appetite. "No. I won't . . . I can't . . . that's too sad."

He scowled at me . . . or maybe that was his neutral face. "It is the path I have chosen, and so I shall be called."

He grabbed the bowl from me and pushed against my shoulders. "Rest. Tomorrow you will be among your people."

"What—"

"Parshaara!" He snarled. I clamped my mouth shut. "Sleep," he commanded.

I rolled to my side and attempted to get comfortable. I could hear him milling about the camp. Doing what, I had no idea. Like the floodgates had been opened, everything that had happened to me that day swept my mind. Waking up confused and weak, being attacked by giants apparently bent on selling me to a slaver and then being saved by one of their kind and nursed . . . all the while still having no idea what the hell was going on or how I had gotten here. I was so lost, it was laughable, except it wasn't and with a little bit of horror, I realized I was crying again. I refused to bawl like I had before and instead tried to keep it as contained as I could.

What made it worse, if I was understanding his words right, Maraas was going to dump me off somewhere 'with my own kind.' But what he didn't understand was that I wasn't so sure I was anywhere near people who were 'my own kind.' With spiraling thoughts, I fell into a fitful sleep.