The Wanderers' Way

Time became almost a figment of the mind, lost behind the hymns of fear and remorse. Black painted lashes blinked at sand that threatened to blind the figure, fighting back the wastelands desperate attempts at claiming her. Hair whipped back, caked in the the dust that painted her, the young maiden rode forth, pushing the horse she had retrieved to both its limits and her own. Dehydration was ever-consuming, drowning them both in the misery brought by through the loss of water. She had long sense lost any notion of where she was, what the hour or day was, losing so much of her mind that she was unsure of even who she was, herself; the ghosts had reaffirmed this questioning.

Indeed, the wastes seemed desperate for her life, even her blood. Sandstorms whipped up out of nowhere, billowing towards her like avalanches. On the days when the wind was still, the sun tried to bake her in her clothing. Despite this, after days of travel, in the distance there seemed salvation. The arid desert seemed to give way to solider ground, sloping down towards a vast, horizon spanning ocean. Backed along an out of place mountain of rock and stone, there seemed to be a town, though the desert haze made it all look like nothing but a mirage.

Silverite met the sight from her iris' depths, hazed and feeling hallucinogenic in their efforts to decipher fiction from reality. Deciding that, amidst all that had occurred, a solitary, final push forward would spell the end of the journey, for better or else for worse, the woman forced the stallion onward. Kicking up their speed to the full pace they could manage in their weakened states, she brought them forth to the gates, be they mirage or real.

Grey climbed the parapet of Port Nowhere's hodgepodge eastern wall, already halfway through a bottle of rum. He let out a soft groan as he saw the billowing plume of dust that followed after the approaching figure, taking another deep swig of rum and then tossing the bottle down to break. "It's too early for this shit..." He murmured, before whistling loudly and waving his finger in a circle in the air. On either side of the gate, a pair of men manned large rotary cannons, and they slowly spun their weapons to focus on the incoming figure, waiting for Grey's order to fire.

Pink wisps flew wildly from her head as she approached, hair caught in the uproar of her travels. Seeing the closed gate, she slowed the horse, steadily, pulling back the reins until he came to a stop just far enough back for anyone on the wall to see her, far enough away to show that she clearly meant no way to storm. Of course, storming a gate with a single, clearly dying woman on a dying horse was a more than illogical concept, and it was clear just how true the statement was. Already, she was showing signs of falling from the horse, swaying from side to side, eyes beginning to sink in, adrenaline wearing off even faster than it came. Her eyes had lost the vivid hue they'd previously held, dimming into a lifeless, almost concrete grey as she fought to focus on the area before her. Expressions crossed her face in flashes, surprise, confusion, curiosity, dread, fear... The woman knew not what to feel or think, still unsure of whether or not she was imagining the town now before her.

Suddenly, she collapsed, falling off the side of the worn-out stallion. Rising up on its hind legs, the horse made a stunned sound, using its remaining energy to gallop away, running off along the wall.

Grey watched the horse gallop away until it too collapsed somewhere along the wall, before he turned his attention to the figure prone in front of the gate. He sighed, calling out. "Open the gate!" Before jumping down and falling for a good 20 feet before landing in front of her. He ignored protests about security and duty and whatnot, kneeling down and scooping her into his arms. "Open the gate, or I will." He finally said, walking slowly towards the metal contraption.
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Some hours later
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When she woke, she would be in a bed. Or more accurately, she would be on a pile of mattresses, with no frame to speak of. A small table beside her had a large pitcher of ice water, the top cracked slightly, and a glass next to it.

The figure in his eyes remained prone, deadweight against his hold. No word escaped her. Her temperature was high, though she'd long since began to cease sweating. Were she not to be treated for her heat exhaustion soon, she would surely perish in their "care." After a time, somewhere while the gates were parting, words, unintelligible mutterings that gave away nothing about who she was or from whence she came. Only her attire provided any indication of such, but even then it might not be definitive.

They were more than able to treat her for her exhaustion, and by the time she would wake she was safe and secure in the guest room of Grey's ramshackle home. The brooding man sat in a chair near the bed, kicked back and leaning. One eye was closed, but the other was locked on the obviously noble guest, keeping tight watch on her.

She came to with something no one could mistake for grace, bolting upright in the cot where she'd been lain. Nothing around her was familiar, and it was an unsettling notion, given that it brought her to the reality that the events in the ruins had been real. It was uncomfortable, illogical, things that seemed as though they simply must be unreal. However, finding herself somewhere foreign could only mean two things; what had happened in the ruins had been real, or she'd hallucinated them in the heat.

Gasping for air as though she'd been strangled, Rosaline found herself blinking several times in some futile attempt to make the world around her appear like home. It was not, making the endeavor foolish. Slowly, her attention drifted around the room, landing, at last, at the man that had been remaining stationary. Her hand itched, a violent, instinctual and almost primal need to summon her weapon beckoning to her like a siren's call.

"Who are you...?" She asked, and the accent that tainted her voice was thicker than she would have liked.

Grey sat up once she was fully awake, rousing himself from his thoughts and fulling focusing his attention on her. "My name is Grey Hawke, and I'm the reason you're still alive." He said simply, moving to stand. His actions were slow, deliberate, with the full intention of being easy enough for her to follow.

Her eyes followed with little trouble, though her mind raced in a web of various directions, trying to find the proper conclusion to just what had happened and where she was. She studied him, studied his attire and expression and the room in which they both were, finally asking the first of many questions to come. "How long was I asleep?"

"A day, maybe more. Clocks are hard to come by here, so I usually go by the sun. And since I've been watching you, my chance to see it has been limited." He said, grabbing a tray with water and light foods - crackers and the like - and handing them to her.

She took both forms of substance in equal measure, though caution was painted through her actions as clearly as it was on her face. If there had been a decision to let her die then it would have already been carried out; if her memory was any indication, she'd have been left in the sun to rot. Of course, her memory wasn't the most reliable, at present, and she still wasn't perfectly sure just where she was. "Watching me?" Rosaline asked, instead, tentatively eating at a cracker before downing some of the drink offered, sloshing it in her mouth to check the taste before swallowing.

"I let you into the city, I'm responsible for you until you can answer to the Captain." He said with a shrug of his shoulders, crossing his legs ever so carefully.

Her eyes narrow as she studies him, her mind directing her through a caricature of lies and truths, melding them into some sort of story that would manage to be feasible, passable even. Nobility and notorious as she was, she even still did not have a definite grasp of what all they could, or did, know of her. "Where are my things?" She inquired, easing herself so that her her feet were on the floor. She knew the clothing of her battlegown, and this was most certainly not it.

He stood slowly, and made his way over to the nearby closet, opening it. Inside were all of her personal effects, at least those she had chosen to cross the wastes with. Grey returned to hi seat, easing into it. "You're an oddity..." He said finally, nodding like it was some sagely realization.

"I've been told that, on occasion." Her status as nobility had been made more than obvious enough for her to have no future luck attempting to deny it. By this point, what had shown of her accent would give away her nationality as well. "You're the one that nursed back to health a potential enemy." She pointed out, standing slowly, trying to be careful with her own body.

Grey smiled just so slightly. "I know kin when I see them." He said simply, sadly.

Her hand twitched where it braced her on the bed, the familiar itch that accompanied her instinctual need to summon her weapon tainting the nerves. "What do you mean?" She said, tone a tinge guarded where it leaked through her mind into her voice, though she forced it to seem more curious than angry. Confusion raked and zig-zagged through her mind, causing her eyes to dart, focusing between him and her attire.

He blinked a few times. "You're Mydarian. Just like me." He said, confusion leaking into his voice at her apparent lack of knowledge.

The events at the ruins had indicated as much as his words read, but something about it still read wholly, horribly wrong. Even with the strength of the spell that had been cast over her fading, she couldn't bring herself to full believe the things these passed few days had told her. It couldn't be right, that these memories that were fading, planted into her were lies. She didn't seem quite aware of what to believe, though she knew that some part of the universe was indicating exactly as much.

"How?" She said, the quick question coming out as a clipped demand.

"Those of us who weren't killed were...taken. Turned into slaves...or worse." He said, voice growing s quiet anger as his hands tightened. "Some escaped...some were taken in the dead of night and never seen again..."

"What makes you think that I am...?" She let her words trail off as she stared after him, her fight or flight sense kicking in though it told her not where to go or how to get there.

"I can see it in your eyes... They're the same as mine."

She drifted hers away from his, unsure of how to respond in this scenario. "Have you met any others?"