He had indeed been wandering the Sahel, as he found out in that first village – if village it could be called, having consisted of about six huts. And in the three weeks since, he had continued north to the southern edge of the Sahara Desert, and to the prosperous city of Jenne. :Surprisingly, the original.:

He had by now gotten used to Niara's interjections and commentaries. And now that she had stopped flying so far every day, and his mind speech had grown stronger, their discourses no longer pained him.

He took her last comment to mean that the city was actually ancient beyond belief, just as its residents claimed, and despite actual appearances – the buildings were in good repair, they were whitewashed fairly regularly, and the streets were kept in superb condition. There was nothing about the city other than the style of some of the architecture to give the impression of being one of the oldest cities in the world.
 
:And how old is that?:

:Older than I am.:

Shit. :Are you sure this Gabriel fellow you spoke of will be here?:

A feeling of chagrin, :not… exactly. But he's been a sword dancer since, the Great War?:

Leon frowned, and took a moment to take in his surroundings before continuing. The mud-brick walls, the multicolored clothing of the people, the shouts of street vendors looking to make sales, the smells of the local cuisine – and less pleasant, people sweating in the heat – coming from vendors and restaurants. The city was enormous – as well it should be – and Leon had no idea how he was supposed to even begin going about looking for an individual sword dancer who may or may not be there, and may or may not be going by the same name.

Well, here's for it, then. He started walking, looking for a likely looking tavern; something the less prestigious in the city might prefer. It actually didn't prove to be all that difficult; it would seem the city was full of dark, poorly lit taverns. And despite the early hour – the sun was only just rising above the horizon – most of them appeared to be open and occupied by some few patrons each. :That one! Go in that one! A tavern by the docks!:

The tavern that, apparently, Niara wanted him to go into was about as crudely named a place as he had ever seen. The Cock and Balls, the sign read. Its sign had a rooster holding a chain in its beak, and the chain had a ball attached to either end. There were no docks to be seen however, :given that this is a city on the edge of a desert.:

:Although we courted but a week, my love for her persisted, for when with her we swived in ways I never knew existed!:

It seemed to be from some sort of ribald song she knew; and the song was apparently several minutes in length. He chose to ignore her, and instead went into a tavern called the Drunken Mare.

Looking around, he found an out of the way table near what looked to be some mercenaries at one table, and soldiers at another. Perfect, if there's been anything noteworthy lately, they'll be talking about it.

A slightly plump bar maid with an unfortunate wart on her neck came up to him and slammed a mug of beer down on the table in front of him, ejaculating “beer's 2 copper; stew's 5." She then stared at him for a moment before turning and walking away. Friendly.

:Did you go in?:

:No. I'm in the Drunken Mare.:

Niara giggled in his head. :She must be easy. The drunk ones always are.: She giggled even harder, and he saw a mental image of her rolling on the floor, legs flailing about, and giggling.

:Are you drunk? You aren't actually –:

An image of her choking.

:– rolling around on the. Niara! Are you –:

:I snorted, and choked on some spit.:

: … I was going to ask if you were okay, but obviously you're doing quite well.:

An image of her looking sheepish appeared.

:I don't think dragons were meant to look sheepish, dear.: He sent her a feeling of seriousness, and a frown. :Just how much have you had to drink?:

The connection went quiet. Leon looked around himself and tried to piece together what he had been hearing from the tables around him. It was a challenge, but he thought he remembered hearing someone mention something about looking for work. He took a swig of his beer and grimaced. Tastes like watered down piss.

Over at the corner table one of the mercenaries was speaking again. “I hear one of the caravans is getting ready to depart, and is still in need of a few guards. The pay should be better than guarding some fat bastard's house for a few days, eh? What do you guys think?"

A burly mercenary who looked as though he could pull a wagon with the oxen riding as passengers didn't look particularly thrilled with the prospect. “You always were a greedy little cocksucker, Frik. Going out into the desert's the worst job there is; why do you think the pay's high? I say we take Lord Vespius up on his offer. The pay is fair, and I got the impression he wanted someone who might stay on with him."

:I'm sorry,: she sounded calmer, now, :I got a bit carried away, didn't I?:

“Jas, you know how I hate guard duty in a city. Nothing ever happens. At least on a caravan we're traveling, and get to kill the occasional Berber raider." Leon noticed the mercenaries weren't drinking their beer either.

:A bit.: A smile for her. :But now at least I know I can get you drunk… But… you're alright? Everything's okay?:

A third mercenary spoke up, this one tall and lanky. “Tomorrow the local nobles are supposed to gather in the market. It's some sort of tradition in this city, ever since the old sultan got replaced by a merc. We really want to find work, we go there."

Leon pulled two coppers out of his pocket and set them on the table, then watched as all four of the mercenaries downed their drinks and slammed their mugs down in unison. They had grimaces on their faces, to a man.

An image of a gaping maw lined with large and sharp teeth appeared in front of him, causing him to flinch slightly. He relaxed as he recognized the sound of a yawn. :Sleepy…:

:Go to bed. I'm sure the king has provided you with something fabulously luxurious.:

A feeling of affirmation. :Mmm.:

:I love you, Niara. Please, be careful.:

He reached out as he had felt her do countless times before, and found himself within her mind. She was dreaming of castles and gardens, and of walking through a forest with him. He gave her forehead a soft kiss, and whispered to her, :goodnight.:

*           *           *

The village women had provided him with coin in return for his stories of recent events to the south. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get him through a few days in the city – with great frugality. And as he left the Drunken Mare, he mentally thanked the women for their generosity once more.

Ahead of him, Frik – that can't seriously be his name – split off from the rest of his group, apparently to visit the public bath house. Leon had followed the mercenaries out of the tavern, discreetly, in the hopes of learning more useful information. This may have been a waste… I probably should have just found an inn and asked the innkeeper. He sighed. Oh well, at least this guy's going somewhere I wanted to go anyways. He turned away from the other mercenaries and followed Frik into a side street.

And just as quickly lost him. Shit. Where'd he go? He grimaced – right – and turned around.

“You've been following me." He twirled a dagger in his hands, idly. “You're that fellow from the tavern. The quiet one, what sat alone and all."

Chagrined, Leon held his hands out to the sides in a gesture of defeat. Might as well… Mercenaries usually start out as soldiers, don't they? “I'm new to town… thought I might learn something useful."

“And what gave you that impression," he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well… umm… It's how everyone does it in the stories…" Said out loud, it sounded lame even to Leon.

Frik snorted with laughter before breaking out into full roars of it. I guess it would be funny, if I didn't feel so much like an idiot. A lifetime later, he straightened up, catching his breath and wiping tears from his eyes, and managed through a few remaining chuckles. “Always deep and mysterious-like in the stories, now, aren't they?" He grinned at Leon. “But those are stories. Next time, just ask. Someone. Anyone." He waited a few moments before once again raising an eyebrow. “That's your cue, boy. Ask."

Can someone get drunk through a mind link with an alcoholic dragon? “Oh, umm. Yes. Do you know anything about a 'white' sword dancer named -"

“Everyone here does."

“- Gabriel?" he finished. “Everyone?"

“Everyone. Don't ask where he is, though; I don't know shit about that."

“Do you know who –"

“And I don't know who would, neither," he continued, looking more closely at Leon's face and arms. He seemed to reach a conclusion. “You got some sort of farm dispute, you don't –"

“I'm not a farmer."

“- need a sword dancer to settle it. 'Specially not a crazy son of a bitch –"

“I don't need –"

“- like that white bastard."

“- a sword dancer."

“Damn straight you don't. Come with me to the bath house, I'll –"

“Err."

“- teach you a thing or two –"

“I don't know about that…"

“- about fighting. You'll be able to solve your own –"

“I already know how to fight."

“- disputes." He lifted the eyebrow again. “What? You learn how to swing a stick around a bit and think you know how to fight?"

Leon nodded. “Something like that."

Frik snorted again. “Just follow me… The bath houses are part of a complex. There's a public exercise area. And the baths; they're full sized pools, not like the tiny casks you've probably been bathing in back at your farm."
Leon gritted his teeth. “I'm not a –"

“And once I've taught you a few –"

“- farmer."

“- basics, you can go back to your farm and be happier for it."

I could use a workout, and a bath, anyways. He shrugged and followed Frik through the throng of people. “I'll need a weapon."

“They have training blades there. Part of the 5 copper fee."

“There's a fee?"

“Unless some local politician or lord has paid for a free day."

“Why would they do that?"

“Politics. Popularity. Everyone here gets a vote when it comes time for elections."

Elections? Odd way of doing things… Rodrick used to just appoint people to their positions. “There's no king in this land?"

“Hah, not for years," Frik answered with a chuckle. “Everyone likes their own power too much to allow anyone else to have more than the council." He scratched at his cheek before continuing. “Not that it actually works, of course. There's always someone or other who has more power than he should. Secret dealings, the black market, all that stuff. But no one can declare himself king."

“You've lived here long, then?"

“Off and on; was born here, but I travel a lot," Frik answered, turning to look at Leon. “And you? You're darker than most 'round here. Come from the south?"

“Kingdom of Ariok… conquered now, but yes. South." He grimaced. “My king tried to stand against the Destoyer."

“The rumors are true then? There's a barbarian king on a rampage?" Frik asked, turning his head once again to look at Leon.

They were drawing near to a large building with a vast entrance supported by pillars of stone. Leon nodded his head, then pointed at the structure. “The bath houses?"

“Yes," he affirmed, gesturing at the entrance. “And blue flags. We're in luck, the Aedile has sponsored a free day."

“Aedile?"

“Some old rank from a long dead empire. He's in charge of peace keeping and festivals. I think he's also supposed to maintain the public buildings, but I never much cared enough to find out for sure."

They entered the building, passing two bored looking guards. There was a central passage, with doors on either side, through which they passed.

“Wow."

“It's something, isn't it?"

They were standing at the edge of a large park that was completely surrounded by the even larger structure that encompassed the whole. There were some smaller buildings within, and more walled off areas near at hand. In the center was a large public pool, within which Leon could see what appeared to be more than a hundred people swimming, playing, and soaking. Under the trees, couples were picnicking and sleeping, and in the open field he could see athletes training and citizens sparring.

He let out a breath. “This is amazing."

Frik grinned and chuckled lightly under his breath before responding, “Behold. Jenne's public bath house. A bit bigger than the name might imply, and the actual bathing rooms are in those buildings there," he pointed in the direction of some small structures built along the outer wall. He turned to face Leon, extended his hand, and said, “Erik, son of Ulfrick."

Erik? Why were his compatriots calling him Frik? That sounds more like a nickname you would expect for his father. Leon stretched out his own hand to grasp Erik's firmly. “Leonidas, son of Leonidas. Who was in turn the son of Leonidas, and so on, and so forth. My family long ago decided tradition was more important than originality."

Erik was chuckling more openly, this time. “Aye, tradition. You'll find plenty of tradition here."

Before Erik could turn away, Leon asked the question that had been on his mind since he had first heard the mercenary in the bar call Erik 'Frik'. “Erik… your friends back at the bar called you Frik."

Erik grimaced before responding. “Aye. And there's a story behind it. A long, sad, story." And then he turned and started walking again.

OK. Leon hurried to catch up to Erik, who he could now see was walking toward one of the larger buildings in the complex, with what looked to be mirrors on the walls – worth a fortune, if they're as expensive here as back home – and a small armory covering every wall without a mirror on it. “What are the mirrors for?"

“For looking at yerself nekkid. What else?" Fortunately, not true to his word, Erik merely inspected his fully clothed form in the nearest mirror – hopefully he doesn't come back here later when he is naked. He was a little on the short side, but with a bulk about him that spoke of being extraordinarily strong. His head was shaved bald, and what skin wasn't covered by his clothing was a dark tan, the lighter coloring revealing his foreign ancestry. On his face he had a dark brown goatee and beard, tapering down to a ragged point in the middle of his chest.

Ah. I see. Leon was able to answer his question on his own without too much effort; there were what appeared to be a master and a beginning student practicing their forms in front of a mirror in a more secluded section of the building. He couldn't see clearly, but he could see enough to realize that they were using the mirror so that the student could watch his own movements and compare them to his master's. Smart.

Erik yawned widely, and started stretching and loosening up his muscles – not a bad idea – and Leon quickly began doing the same.

“They misspelled my name when I joined the local militia. The drill sergeant liked Frik better than Erik, so I became Frik to everyone in my regiment."

Leon waited to hear if there was more to the story. When Erik didn't seem to have any more to add, Leon shrugged and asked, “Is that it?"

Erik gave Leon a fierce stare, “That's my personal history. I don't just tell that story to anyone who will listen, you know."

“That's a lie," came a new voice as another person walked into the training hall. He was slightly more than six feet in height, with well-defined musculature, dark eyes, dark skin, and dark, close-cropped hair. His clothing was a basic tunic, obviously chosen for comfort in sparring. “He tells that story to anyone who will listen, and he insists that it's a 'long, sad, story'. It's not." The stranger stopped in front of Leon, and then held out his sword-callused hand. “Jane, son of Mary, at your service."

Leon found himself once again reaching out to grasp hands with a stranger and giving his own name in return. “It's not tradition to name your father, here?"

Erik laughed. “His father's name is Mary. He comes from a long line of women's names. Hahaha."

Jane donned a serious expression and crossed his arms. “It's true. Builds character. I named my son 'Rose'; he'll have a lot of character; I can feel it," he said, nodding his head slightly all the while.

At that, Jane selected four wooden short swords from a nearby weapon stand and departed with an amused expression on his face and a short nod of farewell to Leon and Erik.

“Grab yourself a sword, and meet me on the field. And yes, the women born into Jane's family have man names. Strange lot, to be sure." Erik, following his own instructions, had already grabbed a medium-length wooden blade and headed out in the same direction Jane had just gone.

Leon perused the selection available to him, finally deciding on a short-sword such as he had originally trained with. It had a good weight to it, and was actually somewhat heavier than a real sword would be, though the balance was still correct. He gave it a few experimental swings, went through a basic pattern, and nodded to himself before following after Erik.

Walking back out into the sunlight, Leon squinted for a moment before being able to make out where Erik was practicing his forms in the shade of a tree. He looked over to see Leon approaching and waved his sword in the air, and then shouted, “Over here! Show me what you've got, and I'll figure out how much I need to teach you."

Leon approached with his sword held low, suddenly launching into an attack when he drew within range. His sword traced its way through one of the patterns he had been trained on, but more slowly than he would have liked. This thing's way too heavy. Erik had easily sidestepped or parried every swing, but he looked impressed—but only for a moment; and then he was swinging his own blade at Leon, who was not quite as adept at controlling his sword as Erik appeared to be.

After a few more seconds of defending against Erik's attack, he felt his sword get caught and held before he himself got knocked to the ground by a body slam.

Leon sat up and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He'd gone into this expecting to at least hold his own, but the style of fighting he had learned did not appear to lend itself to dueling like this.

“You did good, for a farm boy," Erik said from above him, one hand stretched out to help Leon to his feet. “It would seem you weren't lying, ye've had a bit of training, at any rate." He scratched at his chin, and then continued, “Soldier's training, yeah? Fight with a shield on your left arm, and a short sword for your right? Protect the man beside you, work as a team, all that kind of crap?"

Leon nodded.

Erik inserted a finger into his right nostril, extracting a gob of something disgusting. Looking at it, he flicked it off his finger and into the grass. “So how come you ain't got any scars?"

Leaning against the tree, Leon thought about how much he should tell Erik, and then said, “That's part of why I'm looking for Gabriel. I was almost killed down on the borders of Ariok, where my king decided to make his stand. I woke up, and a dragon had healed me and brought me up north."

Erik snorted. “A dragon? Dragons don't save people, they eat them."

“A dragon. She told me that she was going to fight in the war against the Destroyer, and she needed help finding the Dark Wanderer. Apparently this Gabriel person knows how to find him." Not even close to all there is to it, but somehow I don't think he'd believe I'm now mated to a dragon.

Erik had looked skeptical to begin with, and had looked downright ready to call shenanigans on the whole thing when Leon had told him that a dragon had spoken to him, but at the mention of Niara's father, and of Gabriel knowing how to find him, Erik's expression had changed to thoughtful.

After a few moments of silent contemplation, during which some sort of commotion started happening down at the far end of the field by the actual bathing houses, Erik opened his mouth to begin expressing his doubts. “Your story's crazy, and ridiculous. Dragons don't talk. But even supposing they did, you're still going to have one hell of a time finding Gabriel." Looking behind Erik, Leon could now see what appeared to be a naked white man run out of a bath house and start off across the field. “The bastard is crazy; he doesn't care who he pisses off, and he loves to pull stupid stunts." Now there were official looking guardsmen chasing after the naked white man. “I've heard he's been banned from half a dozen cities, and he's wanted in half a dozen more."
The odd scene behind Erik was getting closer now, and was finally causing enough noise to draw Erik's attention. Turning around, he let out a curse, sounding shocked enough that Leon practically expected Erik to quite literally shit a brick.

Not twenty feet away, the naked man went streaking past, arms and legs pumping, his shoulder-length hair flying out behind him, and his man parts flopping around dangerously. I sure hope he doesn't trip. Imagine the rug burn from that! Or don't. Honestly, I think I'd rather not.

A few moments later, the guardsmen ran past as well, still giving chase to the strange naked man.
Leon let out a slow exclamation of, “Ohhhkayyyy," and then watched as the naked man handily disarmed and knocked aside two more guards who had been blocking the exit, hardly slowing down in the process.

People were yelling now, and women were shrieking, from out in the streets outside the complex.

Leon turned to Erik, breaking the silence with his question, “What was that all about?" An obvious question; but what the hell else can you ask after seeing something like that?

Erik's mouth moved up and down for a few moments as he tried to speak and failed. He had to stop and shake himself before he could finally answer. “That, my slow new friend, was Gabriel. It seems he's wanted in Jenne now, too. Or banned. They could just be trying to throw him out of town. Either way, he did what he does: He pissed off someone important."