Ever Ending

Chapter One

It had been a long hot day of walking for Mittas Fringe and his already sour mood was soured even more with the ache in his soles. It was uncommon to go this many sun ups without having seen another person. Had he finally clawed his way so far outside of Guinevere's Stand that even the nomadic travelers dare not trespass? He doubted it. There weren't enough dead bodies or skeleton remains laying about to suggest a settlement was no where near reaching.

With a huff, he pulled his somewhat lighter than normal sack off of his sun burnt shoulder and plopped on a decent sized flat rock to rest. He took out an old rusted canister and greedily swallowed the last of his boiled water before surveying the landscape. It was the same as the last twelve sun ups. Black sand reaching for the purple sky in every direction. Except..could his luck be turning? Yes. Yes it was.

Far in the distance, to the left of the direction he'd been going, a small orange glow popped into existence. Someone had started a campfire for the coming sun down. The glow was tiny, which meant the camp was still probably several hours away. Though that would actually work in Fringe's favor, seeing that the blasted desert offered very little stealth advantage. He frowned down at his bloodied dirty feet and huffed once more, pulling himself up and swinging the sack back over his shoulder.

By the time the thief had reached a point where he'd have to sneak quietly, the sun was fully set. Allowing him the extra cover he needed on the flat, empty land. With a sneer, he crept. The campfire was still going, but it had dwindled down considerably, giving Fringe just enough light to make out one small tent and only one small figure sitting at the fire with their back turned toward him. His luck really had changed, hadn't it?

With an evil chuckle to himself, Mittas crouched down, quietly sliding the sack off of his shoulder once more. Totem Wells had been one mean bastard, but he'd taught his protege well. Twenty two rotations of training had made Fringe as quiet as a ghost. He had a shiv strapped around his non-dominant forearm, but there was a knife in the bag that he'd lifted off of the last poor soul to cross his path and he'd been dying to put it to use. He left the sack where it lay and crept forward once more with the small sword in hand.

As he got closer to the figure, he could make out the shape of a very petite girl. She could have been any number of rotations based on the angle he had, but she had supplies and that was all Fringe cared about. It was only moments before he had his knife around her neck, pulling her up from behind. Long strands of dirt filled black hair tickled his nose as he whispered menacingly in her ear as she yelped in surprise, "I'm taking what I need and if you try to stop me, your blood decorates my blade. Unders--". A rustle from the tent caught his attention, but before Mittas could react, something hard hit the side of his head and the world went to blackness.

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It was hard to say what exactly stirred our thief from his restless slumber. There were a number of things his consciousness brought to light all at once. The throbbing, sharp pain in his temple? The liquid that dripped from said temple into his eye? The gripping pressure of a rope around his wrists, tying him to what appeared to be a stake in the ground? Or perhaps it was the panicked conversation coming from the now large campfire. Whatever the cause, Fringe took care not to alert his capturers right away that he'd awoken. He lay still on the ground where they left him and kept his breathing steady as he surveyed his current situation.

There were two females. The small raven haired he had held briefly at knife point, a slightly taller burnette, and a very.. very large man. The women were small framed, like many of the people living on Rumos, and their hair hung long and loose. Though a bit more kempt than what Fringe was used to seeing. The man, however, was unlike anything he'd imagined. His own black hair was slick backed and shaven on the sides. A rarity, but not exactly what had Fringe raising his eyebrows. This stranger towered over the women he accompanied and even probably had a head over Fringe himself, but his muscles! He was broad shouldered, big bellied and sculpted in a way that the other had read about from The Before, but never expected to see in his lifetime. It was slightly terrifying, though Mittas would never admit it.

They were far enough away that any details of their faces could not be made out (especially with blood obstructing the view), but the women were clearly concerned as the man just stood with his arms crossed, watching them. "I told you", the burnette was saying. "I told you!". She stopped her pacing and pointed a finger up at the man. Unaffected by the size difference. The man didn't move. "You could have killed him!". Her attention was still on her companion but she flung her arm in Fringe's direction. The thief stifled the urge to snort. He'd been in worse predicaments.

The man let out a sigh and when he spoke, his deep, rumbling voice was near as terrifying as his stature. "What was I supposed to do?! Let him slit Sabell's throat?!". His focus was still on his accuser, but he too flung his arm. This time in the direction of their third companion. She stood from the log where she had sat, bobbing one knee. She looked even smaller with the giant man near her, but Fringe could tell she was indeed a woman by the curves of her small body. "I highly doubt he was going to actually kill me. You saw the sack. He was just desperate for supplies".

She spoke calmly despite her nervous demeanor and this time both of the others threw their hands up and turned away. Clearly her naivety was a common occurrence. "What if he dies?", The burnette asked as she plopped herself down where the other, Sabell, had previously been sitting. "He was breathing fine, Leafy". The man's annoyance was evident as he too took a seat. Sabell turned toward her seated companions, "but what if he doesn't die, Jahan?". The man, Jahan, finally let his shoulders slump. "Then I guess we've got ourselves a prisoner".

The word prisoner should have been Fringe's queue to wiggle himself away, but there were several things that left him perplexed about the strangers' exchange. First was the fact that they spoke so well. So articulate. Like they were as well read as any other crook at Guinevere's Stand. Though they were clearly not crooks. They were...clean by desert standards. Their coverings didn't show any signs of wear or tear that Mittas could make out, their skin had little dust, no dried blood and they weren't draped in weapons, although he was sure they carried them. But not only were they well spoken they were...close to one another. Comfortable in one another's presence. Fringe even had to do a bit of a double take when he noticed the burnette, Leafy, lay her head upon the brute Jahan's shoulder. It was odd to witness such affection. Dirty, almost. And why, he couldn't tell, did they seem so worried about whether he was alive or not? Why not leave him tied up either way? That's what any other person would have done. Though Mittas Fringe was starting to get the uneasy feeling that this trio was not like any other people he'd ever come across.

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With a mental huff, the now prisoner eventually maneuvered his lean (but slightly muscled) body into an awkward sitting position. His head spun and the blood in his one eye was still slightly obstructing his sight, but he didn't want to stick around and find out why these strange people wanted to take him with them. The sun looked like it was going to be rising soon and he needed to get a move on. With or without their supplies. Though, for those who seemed so concerned for his well being, it did take the company several minutes after their debate to realize he was awake. Fringe had chewed half way through the vine rope before he heard a gasp coming from the fire. He rolled his green eyes as he looked up.

The two women were both standing now, staring at him. The one called Leafy, partially shielding Seball. Jahan re-appeared from the tent, greatsword in hand as he positioned himself in front of both women. The silence echoed through the desert only briefly as Fringe tilted his head. "How in the bloody name do you fit in that small shelter?", He asked. Eyes narrowing as the group jumped, startled, in unison. "He can talk?", Leafy asked, looking toward Jahan who shrugged. "Obviously", retorts Seball and Mittas is surprised to hear himself chuckle.