New Arrival, Continued.

The grassy banks of the shore were damp to the touch, and in that nether- region that lies between night's end and day's dawn they glistened slightly, seemingly reflecting the light back towards the sky, making it look as if the world was simply a mirror for the stars and the gods within them. Dace looked up and stared at them, and wondered how something so simple ad scattered could be so pretty.
Cool air gently washed over his face in lazy, swirling waves as the sea met the shore and lapped upon it, seemingly giving it faint, brief caresses before fading away. The small pier by which the inhabitants of Mar Salem launched there simple fishing boats now stood out against this peaceful backdrop like a jagged wound, it's crude structure of gnarled wood and course bindings somehow reminding Dace that he was no longer in the untouched wilderness on his own. He was amongst people. People like Vall.

"Dace Capashan? You wished to see me, sai?"

The voice was coarse; "Weather-worn", as Cerra had put it to Dace so many years ago. It was the voice of a man who had seen much of this world, but more importantly had not wished to. Still, it trembled in the breeze between him and Dace, it's slight quiver undoubtedly an echo of this man's last encounter with the person he was addressing. Smiling faintly, Dace turned towards him and beckoned him to take a seat beside him upon the bank. Vall hesitated for a moment, and then awkwardly sat down, a few feet away from the spot where Dace had pointed at. There was a weary, cautioned look in his eyes, and Dace noticed the looseness of the straps around the sword-sheath upon his back, and the swelling around his foot.

"I'm sorry about your ankle. I take it is not broken, correct?

A pause.

"No, it is not, thankee-sai...merely sprained."

"Does it hurt? Would you like me to-"

"I'll live. What do you wish of me, outlander?"

Dace tried to hide his annoyance at this, and knew he had failed. He considered Vall for a moment: Shorter than Dace by about a foot or so, but stockier and wider in the shoulders: A former farmhand perhaps? He looked down at Vall's hands and noticed the calluses given to him the plough and not the sword. Yes, a farmhand then. A long time ago, perhaps, however...it was easy to see that this man had seen battle of some sort, the various cuts on his hands and face healed by time but left there as pitted reminders of whatever violence this man had witnessed. He looked at that face, its scares framed by short-cropped silvery hair, saw the cunning that lied within the man's eyes as he stared back at Dace, and vaguely wondered if this man was more bandit than mercenary. His mind dismissed it: Bandits, from his experience, held few scares: One cut was often enough to lay them low. No, this man no bandit. He had courage. Either that or stupidity. Fortunately for Dace, it mattered not which one it was. Not tonight, anyway. He decided to make his offer.

"I require your help, Vall Terran. The ashlands are a dangerous realm, and my knowledge of the lay of it is scant at best. And we have no time to waste by getting lost."

"We? I haven't even accepted your offer yet, outlander, and already you assume I will help you."

"On the contrary...I wasn't referring to yourself, I was referring to this land as a whole. There are forces afoot that wish to shatter the peace of these tranquil nights and replace them with the shrieks of the damned and the storms of chaos itself. They tell me that I have a part to play in this matter, whether it is of any import I do not know...I merely know that I must travel deep into the Ashlands and find that which must not be."

"You speak in riddles. Why? I speak plain and true, and everyone understands where I stand...are you incapable of doing the same, outlander?"

Dace didn't even attempt to show his contempt this time. His brow furrowed, and suddenly those eyes that seemed so placid and calm revealed a small glimpse of that intense, slightly terrifying fury that burned deep within him. Vall's right hand visibly twitched. Suddenly, he needed to scratch an itch that burned close to his left shoulder, and the hand discreetly rubbed it, lazy fingers close to the hilt of his blade. Dace decided to let a moment or two pass before continuing, but even then the irritation in his voice was plain to hear, a cruel barb tangled up amongst his otherwise calm demeanour. He decided it was better to stay with the facts on this one, and proceeded:

"I require a guide, not a tutor of speachcraft, sai. No more, no less. The pay will be one hundred gold pieces a day, you buy your own provisions and gear. Again, I shall remind you that the Ashlands are dangerous, perhaps you would like to purchase a better swo-"

"-no, this one will do fine for me, thank you. It is mine, it belongs to me, and no-one shall tell me what to do with it. And again, you're assuming that I have already accepted your offer. I have not, nor do I wish to. You are arrogant, conceited, and from what I can gather from that pretty little speech of yours, utterly lost and desperate for help. How do you find that, sai?"

Dace sighed heavily. He hated it when he picked the smart ones.

"You speak the truth, Vall. I need your help, and I need it now. I set off for the Northern Ashlands when dawn comes upon us...I am willing to pay three hundred gold pieces to make sure you are there with me when I ride out. Is that enough to dull the pain of my company?"

A pause. Dace looked away and studied the horizon, and realised that dawn would be with them within the half-hour: Already he could see a white haze outline the spot where the sky met the sea, the latter reflecting it back upwards much in same way the dew upon the grass did with the starlight. Finally, Vall spoke. His voice was quiet, the coarseness suddenly gone from it, and Dace could have sworn that when he spoke it was not Vall addressing him, but Bale. Bale who fell upon the jagged rocks Dagoth Ur, and told him there paths would never cross again in this world.

"Perhaps. Leave me here, Dace Capashan, I need to think. You have your journey to prepare for...if I am not by the north gate by dawn, then do not wait for me. I will not be here."

Dace considered this...he was expecting an immediate answer, and once again this mercenary was frustrating his plans. He sighed again, and with a tired, deliberate motion, he stood up and brushed off the dead leaves from his robes, and looked at Vall for one last time before he left.

"The dawn is almost here, Vall: If you're going to join me, savour it. We journey unto darker skies, as they say here..."

And with that, he left.