An Evening's Errand (Open)

[Mokobo]

Night had long fallen across the rolling expanse of hills and plateau that marked the edge of the lands once known as Giaku. Despite being high in the sky, the light from the waning moon did little to stifle the glow from the countless stars and constellations. With hardly any clouds in sight, the entire cosmos seemed to be on display within the heavens. Gentle breezes rolled across the dusty expanses and played among the sparse growths of grasses and underbrush. Other than those soft moans and whispers of air, the entirety of the terrain was silent. In such late hours of the evening most of the nocturnal creatures had found their meals and finished the rest of their business. Even the restless owl would have by then found its perch and tucked its face beneath its wing.
Yet there was at least one creature still awake. Moving stealthily within the shadows cast to the bottom of a small gully was the lanky figure of a canine. Occasionally the beast would pause to survey the surrounding area with apprehension. Yet each time he would eventually press on as the still night yielded no surprises yet. Soon the shroud of darkness the canine was traversing would come to an end, as the shallow gorge opened up at a small rise in the earth. Cautiously the figure would lower its rusty colored frame to the ground and cautiously climbed the small hill. Brief flashes of black and silver would peek out from his short, brownish fur as he slowly crawled to the top of the summit.
Once atop the hill, Oren would cast his orange gaze in a slow sweep of the area. While he did not see signs of any other creatures, he would wait a few moments before raising himself from the ground. It had been several days since his first excursion into these lands, and he hoped with any luck to not have a repeat of that evening. Out of habit, the young druin would shift his frame to adjust the weight of his father's sword from his side. Yet the action only reminded him of the heirloom's absence, causing him to look forlornly at its usual spot. The sooner he finished his task, the sooner he could return to his most precious possession, and with this thought in mind he would once more continue on.
I hardly wish to give you advice on invading my home, but this plan of yours is doomed from the start.
An exasperated sigh would escape the young druin as he slunk down the slope to slip into the shadows of the continued ravine. He wished dearly to himself that he could have left the annoying intruder within his mind behind with his father's sword.
Well you've hardly been any help.
I should hope not! What sort of honorable creature would I be if I helped you on this bird brained endeavor?
Hopefully a quiet one, and you're the one who's bird brained!
Hmph! I'll take that as a compliment.
Rolling his eyes after the brief mental exchange, Oren would focus once more on the task at hand. He would continue his clandestine trek into the lands of the Imperii while doing his best to remain as silent as the surrounding night.

[Adurnak]

As the young Druin pressed deeper into imperial territory, the ghost of a shadow flitted after him, unseen and unheard...

Anara bit back a 'chuff' of amusement as she watched Oren rise from his somewhat concealed position at the crest of a hill. She could tell he had no real training or experience in stealth, silhouetting himself against the night sky like that, but it was one of only a few mistakes he had made since she started tailing him nearly two hours hence. Not bad for a novice. Still, if he kept neglecting to hide his scent then it would be only a matter of time before a border patrol found him, and that didn't suit her plans.

No, it didn't suit her plans one bit.

Ghosting closer to him under a cloak of gamaritic power, she reached her mind out to his, speaking to him telepathically.

--Just what do you think you're doing, Oren?--

[Mokobo]

What was that? What was that?
Both Oren and the comical intruder voiced the same words at the same time. Quickly the young druin would spring into action, leaping backward to support himself upon his segmented tail. His right fore-paw would instinctively reach behind him, grasping for the hilt of his father's sword. However Oren only grasped at empty air, and once more he lamented the absence of the honored heirloom. Bright orange eyes darted around quickly, examining the surrounding shadows for the source of the voice. However all he managed to see among the gloom was the same still, peaceful terrain which he had been traversing for some time. As the youth slowly lowered himself to all fours, a frown would set upon his lips as an idea came to him.
You heard that too?
Well you know, pup, you don't actually hear things in your-
You know what I mean.!
A shudder would would run down the young druin's spine as he once more cast an apprehensive gaze about the area. He could feel the gaze of another upon him, and yet he had no idea as to their whereabouts. Curiously, the unseen creature had not launched any sort of attack just yet. What truly unsettled him, however, was that the voice had spoken his name. Despite some haziness in his memories of his last visit to the pack lands, he was certain he had not given his name. For a moment he looked to the west, debating to himself whether he should retreat and try a different route. However he felt frustrated at the prospect of undoing hours of careful work, and he would most likely lose the opportunity. A grim look of determination would set upon his face as he began to once more creep through the shadows of the ravine.
Why does this keep happening to me?
Well it certainly isn't due to your charming personality.

[Adurnak]

A faint trace of a smile played across Anara's muzzle as she slipped even closer to the young Druin male, drawing to within a mere meter of him.

--Not to be deterred, I see. That is good; a proper warrior keeps their mind on the objective, and on the mission at hand.--

Moving ahead of Oren, the female Shal'Dran unsheathed Dawn and Dusk, her twin sabers. Spinning Dawn around into a reverse grip, she drove the long, curved nac'aldic blade point-first into the soil, then let go of the handle, causing the sword to shimmer into view in front of the Druin.

--Determination, however, is meaningless if you do not have the skill to either reach your target undetected, or fight your way to it. Take the saber Dawn, and prepare to defend yourself.--

Dropping her cloaking spell, Anara allowed herself to shimmer into view, the moonlight causing her lithe form to shimmer with an almost otherworldly beauty. Bringing Dusk up in a flourishing salute, she slid into a fighting crouch, waiting for Oren's next move.

[Mokobo]

The young druin would once more pause his procession as the newest entity voiced words within his over-crowded mind. Despite the soft breeze flowing through the gully, he could not detect the scent of any other creatures. As he began to examine his surrounding with a far more scrupulous eye than he had used previously, he was startled by the sudden appearance of the saber. The slender blade, thrust into the tightly packed earth, instantly drew his attention. Oren took a cautious step backward after the weapon fully materialized before him and the voice began to speak once more.
I hate to say I told you so, but well-
Shut up.
For a moment the youth wondered once again if it would be wise to make a retreat. Yet he would not have long to ponder such a notion, as the owner of the mysterious blade began to appear before him in a similar fashion. Never before had he seen such a beast, or anything like the powers it seemed to wield. Having been raised in relative seclusion of the sprawling deserts to the south, he was unaware of many things of the world, and as such was completely mystified by the way in which this creature supported itself. Oren would take another cautious step backward, turning his head slightly to gaze behind him through the corner of his eye.
That would be wise. Looks to me like this one can break your bad manners, and maybe some bones.
A low snarl would rumble up in the young druin's chest at the jibe the other, more known voice offered. The whole night the annoying presence had chided and critiqued his every move while adamantly avoiding giving any form of advice. Doing his best to ignore the soft chuckles echoing within his skull, Oren would cast his orange gaze upon the creature before him. He looked at the other in the ways his father had begun to teach him, looking for where they centered their weight and any signs of previous injury or weakness. After a moment of examination, he would take a hesitant step forward.
I can take them.
You'd have better luck catching a fish in the desert.
This statement would cause a small smirk to pull at the corners of Oren's lips. He would dash forward the remaining distance he had retreated before grasping the hilt of the saber within his fore-paw. Rearing back as he had before, the young druin would yank the blade from the earth. The metal sang slightly as it vibrated from the sudden draw, and as he tested it in his grip the druin was fascinated by the way it seemed to drink the faint starlight. Dawn was much lighter than his own hand-and-a-half blade, and his slight smile would disperse as he gave it an experimental flick. The saber was even smaller than the sticks which he and his father had used during his sparse training, but it would have to do. Setting his grip upon the hilt, the druin pup would adjust the way in which his tail helped to support him so as to spread out his hind legs. With his own battle stance assumed, Oren would wait for the other to launch their attack.
I'm from the desert, and fish is one of my favorites.
Hmph! Probably because you got lucky...once.

[Adurnak]

Anara watched with a critical eye as Oren settled into a defensive stance, watching for flaws in his posture, and how he centered himself. Then, without warning, she darted forward, Dusk flicking out at the young Druin in a series of quick strikes, swatting him with the flat of the blade whenever she was able to get through his defenses.

--Do not block with the middle of the blade, Oren. Use the lower third instead; it will give you better leverage, and make it easier to turn aside my attacks.--

[Mokobo]

For a moment the scene was perfectly still as both creatures sized each other up. A low whistle began to ring as the increasing wind passed over the dark, narrow valley in which the combatants were squared off. Yet the peace was not to last as Oren's opponent suddenly launched her attack. The young druin would raise the saber Dawn quickly to block the first of such attacks. However, the unfamiliar weight of the blade caused him to overcompensate, and he barely managed to block the first strike with the portion of the sword nearest the tip. The force of the blow sent vibrations through the hilt of the saber, jarring his grip slightly. For several heated moments Oren strove to drive off the fierce attacks his opponent offered. Several times the flat of Anara's blade slapped against his ribs and shoulders, leaving large, throbbing welts beneath his short, rusty pelt. 
I believe the term for what you're experiencing is 'a whooping'.
The annoying voice cast this jibe at him after the advice his opponent offered. A snarl bubbled over the young druin's lips as his agitation rose from his hurts and the all-too-familiar taunts constantly criticizing him. Holding his right fore-leg out so as to keep Dawn level with the earth, Oren would lower himself to set his free paw on the ground before thrusting the scaled underside of his tail downward to leap several steps away from Anara. His hind legs would kick up small clouds of dust, which carried away on the wind, as he skidded to a halt. For a moment the youth remained crouched as he had before his retreat, blade held steadily level despite his heaving breaths. His mind reeled as he hastily tossed his father's lessons about to think of a strategy.
Clear your mind.
It was the first time the comical intruder had said anything constructive. For the span of a few heartbeats Oren was staggered by this realization, but he soon focused upon the idea. He exhaled slowly, his breath drifting away on the increasing winds. Once more a serene quality fell upon the scene, but as before it was short lived. Oren would snap his gaze up before dashing forward in an attack of his own. Remaining on all fours with his right fore-paw still extended, his gait seemed to hobble slightly, but his tail whipped against the ground to keep his balance. The result was a diagonal charge, in which he kept Dawn between him an his opponent. When the short gap was closed, the young druin would lash the saber out in a quick series of jabs, However, as with his defense, his strikes with the light blade were sloppy with too much power behind them.

[Adurnak]

Biting back a sigh of disappointment at Oren's awkward-looking charge, Anara simply danced backwards, keeping just out of range of his wild, overcommitted stabs. Then she side-stepped him altogether, pivoting to sweep at his legs with her long, powerful tail.

--That was clumsily executed and suicidally foolish, Oren. Had I held my ground, I would only have needed to parry once, and then you would have run yourself onto my blade. You discredit both yourself and whoever taught you, fighting in such a manner.--

Backing off, she looked the young Druin over a second time, her alien gaze unreadable. He looked young, less than a decade, certainly. Why was he on his own, then? It was doubtful that he had been cast out of his pack, if only because there were no Druin packs in any of the nearby regions. An orphan, then? It was a possibility; it would certainly explain the outsized sword and harness her father had seen him with.

Wishing that she had pressed Vyrn for more information, Anara addressed Oren again, this time using her actual voice.

"You know, you never answered my initial question, young Oren. What are you doing here?"

[Mokobo]

As Anara's tail whipped out toward Oren, the young druin attempted to leap away from the attack. However the timing of his retreat was late, and he quickly found the foreleg supporting his frame swept out from beneath him. Oren's chin promptly collided with the hard earth below, causing stars to light up in his vision. As he made a futile attempt to break his fall, the saber Dawn slipped from the druin's grip, clattering several feet across the ground before coming to a rest. With the sudden upset to his balance, the youth skidded across the terrain as well, ending with his legs splayed out before and behind him and his face buried in the dirt. Small clouds of dust slowly settled as Oren remained in this prone position of disgrace, a slight tremble taking hold of his body.
If I were a betting bird, you'd owe me a fish.
The chiding voice came after Oren's opponent's observations, and between the two statements his frame began to tremor more. Rather than respond to either of the voices which invaded his mind, the youth instead remained silent as a torrent of emotion took hold of him. He felt embarrassment from the off-handed way in which he had been defeated, indignation at the words which had followed the short bout, and fury at the jibe directed at not only his skills but those of his trainer. Adrenaline coursed through the druin's veins as he brooded over Anara's initial statement, clouding his mind so much that he failed to hear the reiteration of her inquiry.
Of course, in my current state I could hardly enjoy said fish. I suppose if you were to eat one I might get a hint of the taste, but that would hardly be enough to sate a healthy appetite such as the one I used to boast.
To Oren, the rambling words of the disembodied bird seemed distant and hazy as his anger continued to boil within. Who was this creature before him to cast judgement on his patron, the being which had done and given so much to the youth before being unfairly torn away by a twist of fate? A fire of fury seemed to begin to blaze within his chest as these thoughts spun about his mind. Small tendrils of smoke would begin to slowly rise from the soil beneath his fore-paws as his claws bit into the tough surface of the earth. Slowly the young druin would position his legs beneath himself once more before raising his shaking form from the ground. However, Oren kept his gaze trained downward even as he began to speak in halting tones which accentuated anger into each word.
"Don't. Talk. About. My. Dad!"
The final word left the druin with such force that it echoed throughout the ravine in which the combatants stood before being carried away upon the increasing wind. Oren's orange gaze would at last snap up to look upon Anara, each orb seeming to blaze with his fury. The youth would make a sudden dash for the blade Dawn. If he managed to once more gain a grasp upon the slender hilt, he would again launch an attack on his opponent. However, this newest onslaught would be far more savage than his previous, as his unbridled anger coursed throughout every fiber of his being. He would dash the few steps toward his foe before raising himself from the ground upon his tail once more. Dawn would sing through the cool night air as he slashed several times at the blade's owner with the entirely of his strength behind each blow. Immediately after this attack, Oren would thrust his body backwards, causing himself to perform a small back-flip before roughly landing on all fours. During this little spin, his own tail would lash out in an attempt to trip Anara in a similar motion to her own sweep.

[Adurnak]

This time Anara held her ground, the dull grey of Dusk's blade flickering through the air as she turned away Oren's rage-induced assault. It wasn't until he swept at her legs that she actually moved, darting back and to the side just out of range of his tail as her voice swept through his mind like a chill wind.

--Let me make something very clear to you, Oren. You are in no position to demand respect for anyone, regardless of who they may be. Not after you accused Lord Ny'Caltas of bigotry, racism, and warmongering. Not after you all but spat on the memories of everyone who lost their lives to the Great War.--

Narrowing her strange eyes at the young druin, a low rumble worked its way up from deep in her chest.

--Tell me how your father died, Oren. Tell me, and then I will tell you that I do not care, claim that it was most likely your fault, and go off to befriend the wolves who destroyed your home. Does that sound familiar to you?--

[Mokobo]

For the time being Anara's words seemed to quell the fires of Oren's anger. After his latest attack had proven to be as unfruitful as its predecessors the young druin let loose a rumbling growl. His muscles had begun to coil for another pounce and the tendons of his forepaw grew taunt as he tightened his grip upon Dawn's hilt. Yet the words of the youth's foe caught him off guard, particularly pertaining to his patron's death. In an instant the bubble of Oren's blind rage burst from the tactfully chosen words. In the span of a heartbeat the pup saw everything that had preceded and followed his father's death; finding the ill wolf, begging his father to help heal him, the rapid deterioration of his elder's own health, and even the fateful night of Deathblood's funeral. All of these memories flashed before Oren in quick succession as the accusation of his guilt continued to ring in his ears. The lanky canine seemed to shrink under the weight of such dark thoughts, lowering his head to the ground as he closed his bright orange eyes. 
It really is all my fault.
What was simply is child. Learn from the past, but do not live in it.
While Oren often found himself annoyed or angry with the unwanted visitor within his mind, in that moment he instead felt a surge of gratitude to the mental intruder. The orphan druin found some small comfort within those prosaic words, not enough to remove the anguish of  his loss but enough to dull the ache. As his grief began to ebb away, his anger returned to fill the gap left behind. Yet his temper was sufficiently cooled, and no longer did the youth feel the urge to continue his haphazard attacks upon Anara. Instead he turned his mind to another lesson to be learned from the past, a matter upon which he had only recently received some tutelage, the Demon War. While it was true he did not know much of the actual battles and skirmishes which had taken place, Oren knew who the creatures of these lands had incessantly fought until the few survivors were scattered to the winds. In truth he had no allegiance to that demon horde, and yet, perhaps due to his own lineage, he could not help but empathize with them.
Now wait a second! I told you Shanto was twisting the truth to-
"You talk about lives lost-" The words past Oren's lips meekly at first, but as he continued to speak his voice grew stronger. The young druin would raise his misty gaze to glare hatefully at the other creature as he began to swell with righteous anger. "-but what of the lives your people took? Did you even attempt to talk to those who came before you slaughtered them?" By this time the pup stood straight upon all fours, his limbs trembling as he struggled to suppress the fires burning in his chest. "How many families have you yourself destroyed? How- how many of my kind have you killed with this blade?" The last question left Oren unbidden. As he vehemently voiced the thought aloud, the youth looked down at Dawn with disgust before carelessly releasing the blade from his grip to clatter upon the stony earth. "How long until you try to kill me for the blood that runs in my veins?"
You are absolutely incorrigible.

[Adurnak]

With an annoyed, almost disappointed huff, Anara flicked Dawn into the air with her tail-blade, deftly catching the sabre by it's grip before sheathing both blades.

--Oren, I do not care what you are. What matters is who you are. How you act, what you say, the way you treat others... So far I'm disappointed. You are rude, confrontational, disrespectful, and you act without thinking.--

The female Shal'Dran began slowly circling Oren, the tip of her tail flicking back and forth like a cat stalking it's prey. A spark of crimson Gamaritic energy flickered around the fingers of her right hand.

--Yet you show potential. Your skill and technique with a blade, while poor, are not nearly as bad as a novice. With work, if you are willing to learn, you can improve. Perhaps you could even be broken of your bad manners.--