Fantasy B L O O D S W O R N ❧ The Silver Kestrel Company

[Lekiel]

⊰~B L O O D S W O R N - The Silver Kestrel Company~⊱​

All elvish translations can be found at the paragraph's end, unless intentionally vague​

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Ameranth Faenalla

[div class=miniBox][div class="miniText mini1"] [div class=bar][div class=title]Personas[/div][div class=barText]Ameranth, Guards, High King, Prince Luthien[/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]PC Interactions[/div][div class=barText]xx[/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]Mentions[/div][div class=barText] Hell0NHighWater [/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]Location[/div][div class=barText]Gilden Throne > Palace Gardens[/div][/div] [/div][/div] [div class=bigBox][div class=bigScroll] [div class="textbox big1"][div class=title]✤ ✤ ✤[/div]

The late morning sun filtered in through the decorated open walls of the Gilded Throneroom, bringing with it the silvery trickle of a brook and the faintest hint of a bustling city. Built into the side of a hill, the source of the Tel`Quessir's might overlooked elegant terraces of tall pines and carved wood and polished marble structures. Though artificial in nature, the city blended seamlessly into the surrounding great trees, cascading down into the brilliant blue-green expanse of Lake Elena just like the rushing waterfall by its side. The Gilded Throneroom as it was called. Adorned with majestic wood carvings and coppery metalwork the throne room was draped in a contrast of colours, with the array of morning light glancing off its polished surfaces while the relative dark of its high ceiling cloaked it in shadow. There was a smattering of people in the far end, where the throne was situated. Servants and other official attendants flitted to and fro, ever present in case they were needed, but carefully inconspicuous so as not to let their presence intrude. The quiet of the morning was suddenly interrupted by a commotion. It seemed to originate from beyond the large ornate Ghaastwood doors, though the people within the gilded halls were as of yet unaware; the thick walls of the portal muffling nearly all sound.

"Paly'annon sina coiasira!" Her usually calm alto voice was now replaced by a rather terse accentuation, her exasperation evident in the stiffness of her back. With hair as red as maple leaves in fall, the figure dressed in the elegant stormy blue official gown could be described more as striking rather than beautiful. She jabbed her finger in the direction of the imposing doors that led into the throne room. The Royal Guard in his olive green and silver livery, to his credit, stood his ground for a few moments longer than his predecessor, though his constantly shifting eyes betrayed his waning resolve. He looked to his comrades, eyes pleading with them to back him up, but they deliberately kept their gaze away; as if they wanted no part in this.
"Paly'annon sina coiasira!" - Open the door right now!

"Tarien en'amin.. amin'cael naia, Aran il'ruukina..." The guard attempted to explain, though his volume very quickly diminished. Just like his manhood initial bravado. He cursed his foolishness. Darian had warned him about the Princess and her spat with the Crown Prince before he took up the post, right after his predecessor had resigned - with the excuse of wanting to find his soul again with the priesthood of Felariel. I mean, how bad could it be? He had resoned. Door guard? Well away from the fighting with a decent pay to boot?
"Tarien en'amin.. amin'cael naia, Aran il'ruukina..." - My Princess... I have orders, the King must not be disturbed.

"Mano naia?" She said, deadpan. Though he swore her words felt like the tip of a blade against his throat. There was something about the way she asked it, as if she knew the answer, but only wanted to hear it from his lips. He couldn't help but feel like a criminal being forced to sentence himself to the dungeons.
"Mano naia?" - Whose orders?

"T-Tel'Taren." Ten years on the chopping block... wait what? Inadvertently a tremor snuck its way in despite his best attempts to keep his voice steady.
"T-Tel'Taren." - The Prince.

"Tel`Taren?" The guard's almond shaped eyes bulged in their sockets as his blood froze in his veins. It was not a question. It was spoken like an insinuating remark with such spite the Princess put the best Frost Tempests' of Cal`Ancalen to shame. The other guard unwittingly rubbed his forearms as if the room temperature had dropped several degrees colder. Ameranth let out a sigh and turned to fix her full gaze on the poor guard, her pale-blue eyes narrowed dangerously. She drew a breath.
"Tel`Taren?" - The Prince?

"Open it." Spoken in commons.

"Yal'ero! Yal'ero Tarien en'amin!" The guard snapped to attention. His fist banged against his armored chest so hard there was a dull echoing ring, but he did not so much as flinch at the pain. He bowed to the princess and turned to signal to unseen gatekeepers. There was a brief pause, then a sharp click followed by the low rumble of rotating gears as the great doors of the Gilded Throneroom opened. See? It's not that hard... Ameranth tilted her head in a courtesy gesture of thanks and stepped through the doorway with a swish of her dress robes. Almost as soon as she was through, there was another audible click as the gears reversed and the doors swung shut.
"Yal'ero! Yal'ero Tarien en'amin!" - At once! At once m'Princess!

"Tarien en'amin." Two soft voices spoke in perfect unison. Ameranth nodded as two female attendants in matching white and silver trimmed garb appeared and curtseyed before her. Out of habit, she gestured for them to return to their posts despite knowing that was one order that they would never obey. She never quite understood that at first, until a chance occurrence made her realize that the Head Attendant had taken an oath to keep her safe. On the onset, it she felt a certain measure of incredulity; the palace should be the safest place for her to be. But as the years drew on, until that fated moment when she met Israfael again in the dark of the night... Slim fingers subconsciously clutched at her throat, from where he had placed the edge of his dagger. She knew then that there was nowhere safe. That it was now time to cast aside her naivety, that even her own people, would stoop so low.

She walked the length of the long hall, her even strides muffled by the lush vermilion carpet that led up to the throne. She kept her gaze furrowed, unwavering and focused into the center of the small gathering of lords and nobles. One by one they turned, sliding out of the way, dark looks and whispers trailing in her wake. She stopped several feet before the elaborate throne, adorned with marble and the vines of some ancient tree. Sat on it was a tall isilhin, with platinum hair of a luster of purest mythrill and deep set silver eyes that once sparkled with intelligence brighter than the finest diamonds. At one point in time, she had looked at his broad frame with reverence... awe.. and love. Now he was but a shell of the man he once was. The workmanship of the finest tailors in all of Andarun adorned his frame, but no clothing could hide the fact that he was wasting away before her eyes.

"Atar."
"Atar." - Father.

Ameranth curtseyed before the High King of the Tel`Quessir, an open palm across her heart. But when she raised her eyes to meet his, she realized she might as well have been the carpet laid bare on the ground. His eyes stared into hers, but saw nothing. She almost could not bear it, the sight of him dipped her resolve for but a moment; but she held her chin proudly and smiled at him.

"My dear sister! Fancy seeing you here..." Oh here it comes.

"Brother." She replied curtly, barely sparing the silver haired isilhin who stood by her father's side a glance. Without looking at his face, she knew every plane of his finely chiseled features. The high cheekbones, slim pale pink lips that always seem to curl into a half smile and the grey eyes that never quite reflected the smile that so often brightened his face and fluttered the hearts of many maidens. The future of her people. Or so everyone believed. Ameranth took a step forward, trying to find some sort of light in her father's dead eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but Luthien interrupted her again.

"Did you.. impose yourself on the poor gatekeeper again? You do know how hard it is to find reliable replacements y'know?"

"Maybe if you stopped giving them foolish orders, then maybe I won't have to brute my way in here just to speak to my own father." She nearly spat back her retort.

"Tsk tsk tsk tsk... this behaviour is highly unbecoming for a princess of the land. How will we ever find you-"

"AND DON'T YOU THINK SITTING HERE AND PLANNING YOUR NEXT ORGY WITH THESE -!!" Ameranth caught her insult before it left her lips, before continuing "These... people is RATHER UNBECOMING FOR A PRINCE OF THE LAND..!?" She whirled on him then, her voice rising in a crescendo as she jabbed an accusing finger at the shocked crowd of nobles and painted ladies. Their incessant whispers grew louder, and she thought she might scream at them to get out, but knew that would be going too far.

Luthien feigned a dramatic gasp. "My... my.... hush now, that's rather insensitive..." The prince sulked, genuinely sounding hurt on behalf of his guests. "Whatever gave you that thought dearest sister? We were just discussing important matters of state before you decided to barge your way in here-"

"Wethrinaer!" She heard several shocked gasps coming from the crowd, but to his credit, Luthien merely arched a carefully plucked eyebrow at her outburst.
"Wethrinaer!" - Bullshit/Liar. (insult)

"Important matters of state?!" Her cheeks were now flushed, she knew Luthien was merely playing her like a fiddle and somehow knew today would yet be another futile attempt at getting her father to react to something. To anything. She turned back to her father, trying to address him directly. "Father... why have you sanctioned the order for General Ethrimbor to return from Tal`Velahr? We have barely established our positions and our troops are spread thin!" She paused for a moment, hoping to see something in his greying eyes. Anything. "Do you understand what you have done... father... please..." It almost sounded like she was pleading. Ameranth took another step forwards until she was right up before the gilded throne. She knelt and clutched at his hands, surprised at how cold his skin was to the touch. King Althuras flinched and withdrew his hands into his lap, turning away as if to avoid his daughter gaze. Her heart nearly broke. Why are you doing this? To me... to your people....

"Now now... there's no need to distress father any more, dear sister." Luthien's voice had taken on a sharper edge, and despite her longing, Ameranth withdrew herself back from the throne. Though it was not her brother that she was concerned about, but the despair that darkened her heart at her father's dismissal. She dimly heard Luthien speaking again, and then the murmuring of an acquiescent crowd. But everything faded into a dull wall of muted grey.

⊰~✤~⊱​

The remainder of the meeting, her departure from the throne room. It all passed by in a blur. Ameranth soon found herself wandering the quiet halls of the palace aimlessly, mechanically acknowledging the occasional servant as they passed by. She did not know how long she had walked, or what time of day it was when she absentmindedly glanced out at the shrouded sky.

Ameranth... Ameranth... Ameranth...

What was that? Did someone call her? Was it her own voice-?

Ameranth...

There it was again! Someone had called her. Ameranth shook herself out of her brooding stupor, eyes wide as she scanned the long stone walkway she did not recall stepping into. She vaguely remembered this part of the palace, a sheltered path leading towards an old garden which was no longer in use. The stonework was older, with more vines creeping up the pillars on either sides of the walkway. A cloud was passing overhead, bringing with it the rustle of fallen leaves as a breeze billowed across the unkempt garden. She felt cold all of a sudden, a chill that crept up the spine of her back.

Ameranth.... quenathra... Her steps faltered. The voice... it sounded like it was inside her head. Her heart begun to thump in her chest, nearly drowning out all other sound. Something was coming.... she could feel it... taste it in the air... Another rush of wind buffeted the stark trees that stood like silent guardians around the garden. Leaves spun and roiled, they gathered, spinning around in a vortex as they flitted across the long grass...

Then she saw it... no... her... She stood a score yards off to the side, out at the farthest edge of the garden. Partially concealed by a pine tree. She wasn't very tall, a small petite green figure, dressed in a garment of woven leaves, and with even more leaves seemingly braided no... growing out of her hair. And crowning her head, what at first seemed like antlers, looked more like branches the longer the princess stared at the enigmatic figure. And despite the overcast weather, the anarhin could almost clearly make out her features. She appeared childlike, with a small nose and rounded features... but the most striking thing, was her eyes. They gleamed with a yellowish green glow, they held Ameranth there transfixed.

W-What... Who... are you? Ameranth thought she spoke the question, but realized she said it in her head. She was about to repeat the question out loud when the girl spoke again. Only this time, she was sure she heard it in her mind as she 'heard' her voice but the Woodchild's lips remained tightly sealed.

Suledin n'hin... sint'dirthavaren... ro'quenathra wanwa melana... She did not understand a single word, though something told her she knew exactly what it meant. The Woodchild's words struck a chord within her, as if a doorway to the deepest reaches of her soul had been opened, but she had never known was there.

Wait...! Ameranth reached out a hand towards the child, but she gasped as a thousand visions suddenly flashed across her mind's eye. Voices in an unknown tongue spoke in a cacophony of unintelligible noise and though she could not understand anything, she could feel the emotions of a thousand lives running through her frame. There was terror, then euphoria, brief happiness, utter horror, and finally, a great sadness. It rent her heart in two, and her eyes watered with the tears for an inexplicable tragedy that Ameranth did not know but knew. Then as soon as it came, the feeling passed. Ameranth blinked her eyes, the child was gone...

⊰~✤~⊱​

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[Hell0NHighWater]

xxxx

Location: Palace Gardens

Interactions: ai'mithe Lekiel

ISRAFAEL

The owl ruffled his feathers and turned his back. Talons scraping against the stone as the bird moved away from him.

Apparently plain bird seed was not a suitable offering to win his affections.
His classic owl-shape is utterly lost in that exaggerated ruffling of snowy feathers, beady onyx eyes rimmed in gold flickered towards the Isilhin in distaste.

A frown ticked at the corner of his mouth, emerald eyes narrowing back at the owl. "If you don't like it, then don't eat."

The bird tilted it's head from side to side in sharp movements bringing it's attention back to the seed nestled in the palm of the shrouded figure. He swore for a second that the owl huffed before spreading those impressive ivory wings and taking off.

"So you won't eat that either..." He muttered, watching as each grain of bird seed fell out of his palm and crashed on to the ground. Another twelve gold gone to waste on that bird. It didn't make any sense. Didn't birds eat bird seed?

Israfael quietly look out a note pad and crossed off a word that had been messily scribbled on. Above that were others of the same nature, messy slanted words all crossed off with a single dark line through the middle. He paused for a moment before writing just under it:

Meat?

Salazzar was by far the pickiest bird he had ever met.

Putting the small ink pen and the paper back in the pocket of his coat, Israfael stood from his squatting position. The stone path that he stood on was punctuated with weeds, gnarled roots, and was cracked beyond repair. The dishevelled, un-manicured lawn was more moss than grass and was over shadowed by a huge pine that rained dark needles upon the dank and squishy ground. Clusters of defiant daffodils reared their golden heads amidst the gloom and there were scatters of fuchsia along side the scarlet and saffron hued primroses. The garden had once been beautiful, but Israfael had suspected that no one had come to take care of it in centuries. He, however, found sanctuary among the twisted and gnarled landscape. It was usually quiet here and the shadows were the thickest in this part of the palace.

His hands skimmed across the leather of his pants, brushing off some stray needles. Israfael had planned to head towards the more populated area of the castle, perhaps sneak into the throne room in order to keep tabs on recent events. However, that seemed like an ungodly amount of work. His current mood protested against anything that required more effort than a simple stroll through decrepit gardens. So here he was, attempting to pacify a picky bird and stay as far away from political strife as he could.

The sound of a strangled noise reached his ears before he even took another step. Glancing around the giant mass of a pine tree, he noticed a figure with its back turned to him. His body stilled, gaze darting over the form with a mild bit of apprehension. The figure looked vaguely familiar and the longer he stared at the more he realized why. The stranger wore a blue dress, was obviously feminine, but it was the hair that had him jump to the conclusion of whom the entity was. He had never met another with hair that shone blood red under moonlight.

Israfael made his way around the pine tree slowly, being sure to hug its shadow as not to startle her with his appearance. He couldn't see her face, but he was sure that she had been lost in thought considering that she hadn't seemed to move. His steps were cautious, light, making his way across the courtyard to her. When he was close enough, his body leaned in so that his breath tickled the shell of her ear, "What are you doing here, ai'mithe?"

The question was innocent, but the candor to his tone held a more mischievous, if not amused, connotation. Israfael studied her from under his hood, taking in the slight paleness to her otherwise more bronzed complexion. His brows furrowed and even though his expression didn't outwardly change there was a shift in his gaze. He stood up a bit straighter and cast his gaze around the disheveled garden. His guard was always up, but seeing her shaken somehow provoked his paranoia more than usual. Confirming that there was no one in their immediate vicinity, the assassin turned his attention back to the woman beside him, "Did something happen?"

There had been no shortage of violence here in the palace.
It was one of the only things that remained constant among the slivering nobles.

Despite the war that raged beyond these walls, the nobility always sought the employment of people like Israfael, trading lives for societal powers. It was disgusting in his opinion, but their lusts for power meant that his purses were always full. Or at least it did, until he stopped being their murderous errand boy.
In an odd twist of fate he now found himself killing only to protect the same mark that he himself was unable to kill.

He also gathered information for her on the side, putting his training to use for things that didn't involve killing, which was a bit jarring at first. But after the first couple extensive 'lectures' from Amaranth, he had at least learned to show some restraint....or just clean house whenever she wasn't looking. He wasn't sure she knew how many attempts on her life were made in the time he had swore himself to her side, but as long as he did his job she would never need to know.

⊰~Translation~⊱​

ai'mithe- A nickname Israfael has always used for Amaranth, means 'little rat'

 

[Lekiel]

⊰~B L O O D S W O R N - The Silver Kestrel Company~⊱​

All elvish translations can be found at the paragraph's end, unless intentionally vague​

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Ameranth Faenalla

[div class=miniBox][div class="miniText mini1"] [div class=bar][div class=title]Personas[/div][div class=barText]Ameranth, Israfael, Grandmagus Kharis Bhalen[/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]PC Interactions[/div][div class=barText]Collaborative post with Hell0NHighWater [/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]Mentions[/div][div class=barText] Hell0NHighWater [/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]Location[/div][div class=barText]Palace Gardens > Kharis Bhalen's Tower > Weeping Wyvern Tavern[/div][/div] [/div][/div] [div class=bigBox][div class=bigScroll] [div class="textbox big1"][div class=title]✤ ✤ ✤[/div]

There weren't many who could sneak up on her in all the realm. A princess she may be, Ameranth was still a very accomplished ranger enchantress of her own; plus living half your life double checking the shadows to make sure there was no hidden blade made you subconsciously more aware of your environment.

But the man whose voice euphoniously titillated her ears was the Prince of Shadow himself. And he had caught her in a moment of vulnerability, blankly staring out at the garden wondering if she was daydreaming and had in fact, seen a vision from the Goddess herself. She should've been startled, but instead slowly turned to regard the isilhin with wide staring eyes. She reached out a hand to gently touch the side of his face as if she thought him an ephemeral spirit. His skin felt warm to the touch.

"Israfael..?" She spoke, her voice sounded faraway. "Mankoi lle sinome?" "Mankoi lle sinome?" - Why are you here?

Her skin brushed against his and the contact caused him to flinch away momentarily. A single dark brow arched in mute question. She seemed distracted or at least very distant and a piece of him wondered what had happened to cause her such distress.

"That is a question I should be asking you, ai'mithe." The snark to his response did not hold its usual bite and the wry smile that flickered upon his lips offset the remark. It took his brain only a handful of seconds to digest the language switch, but even so he stood there quietly for a few moments. Watching her. Concern glittered in the depths of forest green irises, raising his own hand slowly to press against the back of hers. She had never touched him so openly before.

"I was with Salazzar...." His voice trailed off as he slowly removed her hand from the side of his face, "Lle tyava quel?" There was another hint of guttural concern in his voice as his azure orbs narrowed in on her face. This was not like her to be so aloof. In the many years they had known one another as children, she had never struck him as spacey. The way she was acting set him on edge and a bit of forboding clenched at his gut. He was beginning to wonder if she had been poisoned while he was out messing with an unruly bird. She did not display any signs of fever, however, and she wasn't convulsing or foaming at the mouth. "Lle tyava quel? -Do you feel well?

"Salazzar.." She whispered after him, her eyes searching in the space around them as if she expected to see the snowy white avian staring at them with its beady eyes.

"Amin..." Her voice trailed off, then sudden clarity returned to her amber eyes and she whirled back to the rogue. "Amin..." - I...

"Rafe! Did you see her?!" She clutched at his cloak with sudden urgency.

He blinked down at her, his expression impassive as always even as her fingers curled around the fabric of his cloak. His brows rose, looking from the way her fingers encircled the pitch fabric of his cloak to her face. Israfael was more than a tad concerned at this point, she had never acted in this way before and he wasn't sure what to make of it. He stood there silent for a moment, so still that she could have been clutching at a statue.

"Did I see....who?"

His question came out slowly as if he were talking to a child. The corners of his mouth slanted into a slight frown. His gaze drifted away from her face and back to the gardens around them, as if double checking what he had already known; they were alone here and that was a fact he was more than certain of.

"A little girl!" She frowned at him, she could sense that he didn't quite believe her. Exasperated, Amaranth pointed to where she had seen the woodchild. "Right by that pine... she was unlike any I've seen. Greenish skin, but not like that of a goblin, more plantlike, like a flower stem... She had antlers... or branches growing out of her head... with leaves..." She trailed off, her brow furrowed as she tried to recall what she had witnessed.

"Didn't you at least... hear us talking..?"

His gaze followed her gesture, staring at the empty space by the pine. Israfael stayed quiet, mentally computing the information that she had given him. He wasn't sure if he believed her or not, but he did know that she had never been one to fabricate stories. If she said that she saw this...flower child then perhaps there was some truth to it. Or she could have huffed too much moon sugar. Did Ameranth even indulge in illicit substances?

His gaze swung back to her, discreetly looking over her to make sure that she didn't have an injury he had somehow missed before. There was no dent in her head, no blood to be found, and her balance seemed to be eerily perfect. The only exception, the only ailment he could pinpoint, was the slightly pale tint to her bronzed skin.

"No." He drawled the word out just slightly, bringing his hands up to her shoulders in an attempt to gently pry her from gripping at his cloak. Perhaps she was just under a lot of stress? His mind whirled, logically trying to explain what she was describing to him without labeling her as insane.

"No..?" She reiterated. "No." He said again.

There was a moment of silence that hung heavy between them, before a sigh slipped past his lips. His gaze swung up toward the sky, a muttered curse rolling just under his exhale of breath. Rafe looked back down at her face, crossing his arms over his chest, "Fine. What...did she tell you?"

"She...."

Was he really entertaining this? Maybe Ameranth had lost it when he wasn't looking. This could have all been some elaborate joke on her part, she knew that he didn't always understand pranks....yet the way she was acting seemed to be a little too serious to just be a joke. And if it had really happened? Then what? He didn't know how to fight these fanciful visions, he didn't know how to help her with this plant child. And he really didn't like how useless to her he felt in that second.

Ameranth squinted her eyes shut, trying to piece together the memory of her encounter. It had only just happened but the details of what transpired seemed to be fast fading into a jumbled mess of fragmented thoughts. There were so many voices... in a language she did not understand... how could she remember what the girl had said?

"S-Suledin n'hin, sint'dirthavaren... ro'quenathra wanwa melana..." It came out as barely a whisper. Her hand immediately lifted to cover her lips, as if she had lost control of her voice and had unwittingly said something she shouldn't have.

He felt himself still. Every muscle in his body tense. It was as if she had struck him with that phrase, the air leaving his lungs as he took half a step back. Ameranth, for as long as he had known her, never spoke the language of the ancients. In fact, most nobles neglected to teach their children anything of the dying dialect.

But Israfael knew.

His mother, his real mother, had spoken it to him as a small child. One of his earliest memories was of her speaking to him in the language of old, and her jovial expression.

"What did you just say?" It wasn't really a question. More like a shocked retort to words that he had not heard in nine decades. To say he believed her now was a bit of an understatement, she had undoubtedly convinced him that this conversation with...whatever it was had truly happened. Israfael stepped away from her slightly, dragging his fingers through his silver hair. "Are you sure that's what she said?" When she didn't respond immediately he turned his body towards her and frowned, his eyes narrowing. He caught her nod and his frown only seemed to grow, "Say it again. Slower this time."

She looked a little uncertain, but repeated the phrase without missing a beat. His gaze moved to the ground, glaring at the misshapen stones under his feet.

"Find a girl....a bloodoath? And something about no time....before it comes?" He shook his head, features twisting into a scowl. It didn't make any sense. What girl? A bloodoath? What was coming? He pressed a finger to his temple, struggling to fill in the blanks. But there were words he didn't recognize and the passage of time had damaged his fluency. "I haven't heard the old language in so long....but it is a warning of some kind." He breathed a short sigh, nose scrunching as he turned back to look at her with an added seriousness to his gaze. "The Grandmagus would know more. He is most likely far more fluent than I."

"I spoke..- that was... in Old Tongue..." The revelation that she had just spoken in a language she knew almost nothing about shocked her more than anything. But as the implications of what Israfael had translated settled on her thoughts, she could not help but feel a certain sense of foreboding.

"Bloodoath...? Could it be a reference to the Tengwagar*?" What was happening to her? She was by no means a Seer, she never had visions before. If that was a warning from the Goddess, wouldn't it have come from the High Priestess? Who was that child? A dozen questions clouded her mind all at once, coupled with the strange encounter and the upsetting events with her father, Amaranth felt like the stability and control she had worked so hard to achieve was rapidly fleeting from her grasp. *"...Tengwagar" - See "Forgotten Promises" section of main thread.

His shoulders lifted into a half shrug, "Your guess is as good as mine, ai'mithe."

Rafe was right, they had to find the Grandmagus. If ever there was anyone who would know about the ancients, it would be Kharis Bhalen. She looked into the eyes of her closest friend, thankful as always that she had someone with whom she could trust even in her most vulnerable moments. It was ironic, given that he was an assassin. She drew a quick steadying breath and offered him a smile.

"Elder Kharis is still at his Tower last I heard. Best we get to him now."

He nodded, gesturing for her to lead the way, "After you, Princess."

⊰~✤~⊱​

The cold damp air wrapped around him like a heavy coat of chain mail as he ascended the tight spiral staircase to the Grandmagus' chambers. Israfael sulked behind, subconsciously keeping towards the more darker parts of the stairs. His gaze was constantly moving as if paranoid that some sort of threat would leap out of the shadows to face him. When the duo reached the large wooden doors at the top of the stairs, he pushed them open before allowing her to move into the room ahead of him. The circular chambers had a particularly nasty stench, like a dirty old rag left in the sun for far too long. There were spilled puddles of steaming potions across the stone floors, the shelves that lined the walls were crammed with glass jars of repulsive ingredients like sheep intestines, pickled lizard brains, rabbit eyeballs, snakes tongue and rat's ears. Israfael's nose crinkled in an expression of disgust. How did the Grandmagus work in these conditions? He stepped carefully into the room, grimacing at the tacky feeling of his boots against the stone floor.

"Da'lin, forgive me I did not hear you come in." There was a rustling in the back of the room and a period of silence before the face of a wizened old man peeked around a large stack of books. "Da'lin" -Old Elvish for child

"Yaaraer." Ameranth smiled brightly as she curtseyed to the wizened old elf. The smell of old parchment, rustic spellbooks and bubbling potions filled her with a serene sense of nostalgia. This was the place she grew up in, where she spent countless hours listening to epic tales of heroes from legends of old, where she ran to when she was upset about injustices she had no power to change. That was what stories gave her, belief and hope. That was what the old man, had given her. "Yaaraer." - Ancient/old one (affectionate respect)

She offered a wry smile to Rafe again, quite aware that he was a little uncomfortable in the old mage's quarters, but knew he appreciated the wizened elf as much as she did, in his own way. If he noticed the expression she gave him, he didn't offer any in return. His focus almost completely on the jars of various questionable substances.

"Yaaraer... I... so much has happened since you were gone..." Ameranth began haltingly.

The old elf hummed, giving Ameranth a partly toothless smile. His once bright green eyes were glazed with a cloudy look that probably hindered his eyesight more and more with the passing of time. There were moments where the Grandmagus' eyes seemed to stray a bit off from them and it led Israfael to the conclusion that he was either completely blind or just about. Not that the impairment seemed to handicap him at all given the way he still was able to work around this mess. "Explain what you can, child."

Israfael put his back against the far wall, crossing his arms and mutely watching the exchange between the two. There was a beat of silence before the Grandmagus seemed to look up and over in his direction, "Be careful where you slouch, boy, I have many rare ingredients on those shelves."

Rafe leaned away from the wall, arching a brow at the slight scolding he had just received. Mentally, he took back all of his previous assumptions about the old mage.

She spent a good amount of time explaining to the wizened mage what had transpired. It took longer than usual as Ameranth relished the opportunity to keep Grandmagus Bhalen abreast of all the events, especially of the High King's growing obsession in recalling their troops from the front. It was a lot to take in, in one go. Ameranth was aware that Kharis had his own issues to deal with back home in Cal`Ancalen, but if anyone had the capacity and insight to sort it all out, it was him.

"She had skin as vibrant green as that of a plant... a-and..." Ameranth was in the midst of finishing up her story of the Woodchild.

"Don't forget about the antlers, that part's the best---"

"She said these... these.. words. I-I don't know how I remember them... Rafe says its in Old Tongue..."

The Grandmagus' head whipped in the direction of where the assassin shuffled against the wall, those cardiac coated eyes staring at him for longer than what was comfortable. "And what do you know of the Old Tongue, boy?"

The question seemed innocent enough, but the way it was phrased was almost accusatory. "I only know what I remember learning as a child, Grandmagus." His answer was steady, calm, and the cadence to his voice was void of any obvious emotion. For a moment the chambers filled with a heavy silence before Kharis turned back to Ameranth with pursed lips and narrowed eyes.

"If what you say is true, then I am afraid I cannot be of much assistance. However, the Woodchild as you described reminds me of something....a book I believe that I have read somewhere..." He trailed off, blindly turning towards his stack of books and grasping for a piece of parchment and an ink quill. "Unfortunately my memory becomes a bit more muddled everyday, the price of being old they say." He chuckled a bit at his own words, scribbling something down on the paper before holding it out in the general direction of Amaranth. "There is a...well...I guess you kids would call her a Librarian, in Cal`Ancalen. I would travel with you, but I have business to attend to here." There was a hint of regret in the old man's voice as he placed a hand on the side of Amaranth's shoulder.

"Dear girl I would advise caution, the roads are much less safe than what some would make it out to be... and it's not just the Wretched I'm worried about." Kharis hesitated for a moment, before he drew a long breath and continued in a grave tone, "Heed my advice and make haste for Cal`Ancalen... It'd also be best if no-one knew the Princess herself is going. I know not what the Librarian will ask of you, but I do know that it will not be without its trials."

"I... will. Thank you, Yaaraer." She offered the aging mage a smile, it felt bittersweet. She saw the weariness in his eyes, but there was also a spark in it. A fire that would not be put out. It comforted her, to know someone who saw the world for what it is. To stare deep into the depths of the Darkness that had permeated the land for over an Age, and still believe that there is hope.

"Thank you, old father..." Amaranth whispered again, embracing the mage. Her pale eyes met Israfael's as a silent word was passed between them. There was much to be done.

⊰~ * ~⊱​

If there was one thing - alright, there were many things - Ameranth hated ever since she became a princess of the land, it was that she could barely have any time alone without someone throwing a fit about how the princess had gone missing. Even her brief excursion into the old gardens just over a week ago had the Royal Guard Captain coming up to her and whining about how she had to have at least one of the guards along with her at all times. She was beginning to suspect Lucien had instructed Silvyr to constantly keep tabs on her. So it was, that she had to convince one of her maidens to impersonate her and remain within her chambers on the pretense that the Princess was not feeling well. The red-headed maiden even did a very good impression of the princess' voice, something which Ameranth had discovered by chance. Suffice to say that instead of punishing the girl for her teasing, Amaranth had taken advantage of their similarities on more than one occasion to get out on her own. Of course, she was never gone for more than a few days. There was no doubt Lucien will eventually find out where she went, she just hoped that by that time, they will have enough of a headstart.

Amaranth let out a sigh as she turned to gaze up at Eweca's pale face as she hung high in the heavens. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves on the surrounding trees and the air was filled with the buzz of insects and sounds of other nocturnal animals; more apparent now that the sounds of raucous laughter and merriment emanating from the taproom was muffled below. Shrouded in a cloak of deep green and with a dark scarf masking the lower half of her face, the princess stood on the upper balcony of one of the middling Taverns of An`Falithe. The Weeping Wyvern. All it took was a pouch of Gold Crowns to convince the barkeeper to allow them exclusive privacy to use the upper floors as a meeting place.

As for the reason why she was here... well, It took several rounds of discussion before both Israfael and the princess decided that they needed to hire a bunch of swords to aid them in their arduous journey to the Mage City. The reports of increased Wretched activity weren't to be taken lightly and getting the royal escort was obviously out of the question.

Ameranth turned back to face the room, leaning her back against the wooden railing. The meeting loft was spacious if a little dark. A single elemental lamp hung overhead, throwing shifting shadows in the alcoves and amidst the piles of tavern supplies. Rafe liked the darkness, she... not so much. Though for once, she was thankful the shades helped to hide her visage. If whoever they were hiring were to find out who she was, she rather hoped they would be far from the city, instead of closer to it.

Glancing down, she unrolled the piece of yellowed parchment that she grasped in her hand. A flyer, distributed to a couple of established taverns throughout the capital known to be frequented by accomplished adventurers seeking coin. She hoped they had made the right decision.

Spoiler

⊰~✤~⊱

The Silver Kestral Company is seeking able-bodied and accomplished adventurers to act as escorts to Cal`Ancalen in the far north. The target must be protected at all costs. Mistake this not for a simple quest, as the roads have become increasingly unsafe as of late. Expect a high-level of Wretched activity during the course of the journey, though we will do our best to skirt around such encounters. Nevertheless, a sizeable upfront of seven gold crowns will be offered should applicants be deemed suitable for the job. Upon completion, the reward will be five times that amount.

All interested parties are to head to the Weeping Wyvern. Ask the barkeep for 'Em'. He will direct you to the assignation point.

Signed,
Em, of The Silver Kestral Company​

⊰~✤~⊱​

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[shadowz1995]

"Thank you, ser. I-I can't thank you enough." Spoke a man, who not moments ago was a panic-stricken mess of a human being. He had been yelling and hollering for anyone who knew where a priest was that could heal his 6 year old daughter. The poor girl had fallen terribly Ill over the past few days and the man had no means to pay for a healer. Her health took a turn for the worse and he had taken to the streets in a fit of panic, begging someone to save her.

Fortunately, one of the guards on patrol knew of a healer that would charge the bare minimum, if anything at all, to provide care.

The blind healer known as Jayson Velian.

It was rare that he charged and when he did, even a beggar on the streets could afford it with a few days earnings.

After receiving the directions, he had sprinted the entire way there.

The little girl was indeed in bad shape when Jayson examined her but nowhere near lost, like her father feared. The two had to stay the weekend in the blind man's care and while most people found that to be an inconvenience, Jayson made sure it was quite luxurious. Especially for commoners like them. The bedding was nice, the fire was warm, and they had hot, delicious meals prepared for them everyday during their stay.

The little girl's strength gradually recovered and she was soon well enough to walk again but healed completely. "Be sure to give her the potions I gave you, at the times I gave you. Once in the morning when she wakes up. Once at night before sleep. She should be back to full strength by next week."

"I don't know how I could ever rep-"

The father was cut off by a dismissive wave and a small, warm smile from the healer. "Take good care of your daughter and raise her into a proper lady so she can live a full and happy life. You will have more than paid your debt to me with that alone."

The father repeated his appreciation dozens of times before he led his daughter by the hand, back home. Jayson could not see, but he heard the contact his hand made with hers. There was even something of a skip in the little girl's step that warmed Jayson's heart more than any hearth could.

The war veteran turned around and headed back inside. A long sigh left his lips as his mind ran through his inventory of ingredients for making his concoctions, confirming them by touch as he mentally checked them off. It was official, he was practically out of herbs and flora to treat the ailments that plagued the common folk. He still had a decent amount of cash from his time as a soldier in active duty so while it wasnt an issue, it would become one.

it felt very odd referring to himself that way. A soldier who wasn't on active duty. The kingdom decided they merely needed guards these days to protect the borders. Not soldiers to continue fighting the threat. It boggled his mind. Even If The Wretched were retreating and the king had no intention to pursue, that didn't mean that soldiers should be any less prevalent. The threat still remained after all.

But maybe that was why he was a basic foot soldier his entire military career. Perhaps he did not have the foresight required to lead.

Regardless, The Blind Guardian had some errands to run.

He dawned his basic cloth robes and made sure to tie the wraps around his eyes tightly before pulling the hood over his head. The people knew of him and how Jayson lost his sight but the Scar was quite nasty and having colorless, white eyes stare at you could unnerving even to the hardest of soldiers if they stared long enough.

The eyes of a long dead corpse.

The herbologists hand touched the door and promptly reached out to the left to grab the firm wooden staff that leaned against the wall. Ornately decorated with engravings and metal plating added to the ends of the staff.

It was time to see what the apothecary had in stock today.

.................

"Ah! If it isn't one of my least favorite customers!" Came the raspy voice of the old crone who owned the apothecary.

A polite chuckle filled the quiet air of the small shack as Jayson ducked his way inside, "Careful, Gilda. I may just decide to stop treating your joint pains and let you fall to pieces."

"Bah! You're too noble to do such a thing to an old lady. Your threats are empty, boy."

'Sharp old bat, ain't she?' The soldier thought to himself with a smile before shaking his head and carefully making his way to the seat he knew was in the right hand corner.

"I'm here to restock, Gilda. My supply has run low and I know you have always got some useful ingredients somewhere in here."

The old woman rolled her eyes before disappearing into the back room. Several minutes passed before she finally returned with some basic herbs for basic remedies. Nothing special, but it was exactly what he need. Jayson reached into his satchel to pull out the coin he needed to pay the old woman but as he did, the crone pushed something into his hand.

Some parchment of some kind. Jayson let his fingertips gingerly glide across the paper and traced the letters. It was a summons to escort someone of high importance on a rather treacherous path. Such a request alone would probably have been enough to get Jayson on board but the promise of 7 gold crowns up front was also something he couldn't pass up. He needed money to continue his work here.

"You've always paid me in full and I hear about how much you do for the people in this entire town almost every week. But your pockets aren't bottomless, boy! You're to kind for your own good. So, do this old lady a favor and accept this job. Get paid what you deserve so you'll be able to keep doing what you do for everyone here for a long time to come."

She was right, of course. It was a rare day when Gilda, the crone was wrong. So rare it could be a holiday. Still, it didnt feel right leaving on a journey when people here still needed him. "Alright, Gilda. I'll look into it"

"Don't look into it boy! Get going and do it! My old behind ain't much longer for this world and your loitering around here is only making it go faster."

"Gilda, please don't say that. You are still in good he-"

"Boy, I've got too many years on my back for you to be telling me how I'm doing. Now get!"

The soldier sighed and rose from the seat, his satchel now full of essential ingredients for his works and made his way out, towards the Weeping Wyvern.

..................

When Jayson finally pushed his way into the bustling tavern, a few familiar voices let out a happy yell. Guards and adventurers alike stood to welcome the staff wielder as he entered. Greetings and friendly jibes were exchanged before Jayson finally got to the front of the tavern to speak with the Barkeep "I haven't seen you here in over a year, Blind boy! What brings you about?"

"A summons. Someone apparently needs an escort and I find myself in need of coin to be able to care for the people of the city. The name is Em, I believe."

@llekiel Hell0NHighWater (I think? Shouldnt need more tags lol)

 

[Kipsy]

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Myrin Ertumal

location: Weeping Wyvern | tags: Lekiel , Hell0NHighWater , shadowz1995

The man was being chased. He felt a pair of eyes on his back, watching his every movement. Either they were terrible at what they did, or they just wanted to see him squirm. In any case, he felt the urge to get off the public streets. If he went somewhere secluded, he could see if anyone was following him. The plan seemed foolproof enough, and the man went for it as he bit at his lower lip.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an alleyway. Entering it at a rushed pace, he turned around, eyes scanning to see if the person tracking him had followed. The moment he did so, someone grabbed him from behind, hands around his throat. He struggled, feeling his head be pulled back against the stranger's chest. It was a male's chest, he registered, but the thought lasted no longer than a few seconds. Whoever had seized him now pushed him to the ground, landing on top of his body. He tried to understand what was going on, but it was too late. His neck was broken, his spinal cord severed.

Myrin stepped back from his handy work, standing up and straightening his posture. The body lay limply before him, drained of all life. It was a clever technique, he thought, proud of himself for having come up with it. His knuckles were the fulcrum and the target's skull was the lever. Simple in design, really, but effective. As a bonus, it required no particular weapon; he did it unarmed.

Straightening his attire, Myrin began to walk away, his eyes downcast. The crowd he swiftly joined didn't pay him a second thought, which was a small relief. Of course, a few cast him sideways glances as he came out from the alley, but their attention wavered, leaving him alone and unbothered. That was just the way he preferred it.

As the road narrowed and the number of people about dissipated, something caught Myrin's eye. A flyer blew by in the wind, the corners a bit torn and worn down. Something about the way the light hit the piece of parchment prompted him to chase after it. He did so ignoring the elves and few humans around him, bumping into some of them as he moved off to the side of the road. There, he bent down and picked up the flyer, holding it up to read the message. "Able-bodies and accomplished adventurers to act as escorts?" he mumbled aloud. "An adventurer must've lost this." It didn't sound like too difficult of a job for him to do while he waited for another assignment. Plus, the reward was absolutely exquisite. He didn't consider himself easily swayed by material things, but... Why would he pass this up? He was good enough to handle this task, surely.

Humming low in his throat, Myrin hesitated, mulling it over. Deciding that he needed something to do to pass the time, to distract him from his own mind, he eventually made his choice. With a quick stop at the inn he'd been staying at for the past few days, he gathered up his things and set off to the Weeping Wyvern.

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When Myrin entered the Weeping Wyvern, only a few heads turned his way. They dismissed him instantly--his appearance often did that--and he ignored them all the same. His eyes locked on the barkeep, who was already talking to someone. He wasn't usually the one who liked to initiate conversation, but it appeared as though this occasion called for it. He approached to stand beside the man with the staff. "I'm looking for an Em," he said gruffly to the barkeep, unbothered by the fact that he'd just interrupted whatever conversation they'd been having. Little did he know that the man next to him had asked for the very same person.
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[Hell0NHighWater]

xxxx

Location: Weeping Wyvern

Interactions: ai'mithe Lekiel | New Guys Kipsy & shadowz1995

ISRAFAEL

The Silver Kestral Company. He couldn't say he had been too impressed with the name when she had started putting together those pamphlets. Advising her that this was not an expedition she should have been undertaking would have earned him more than a few sharp words and dramatic frowns. Whenever Amaranth asked something of him, he could never say no. It had been this way ever since they were children. He fingered the parchment, unable to feel its texture through the leather of his gloves yet still doing so as if out of habit. Mossy green irises floated across the inked words passively, a slight frown tugging at the edge of his lips. Seven Crowns.

"Mani?" He breathed, nostrils flaring as he read a little further down, "Amin n'nowa ikotane, ai'mithe."

Forest green orbs swiveled up towards the elf leaning against the wooden railing, his brows drawing into an expression of mild exasperation. "Where are you going to get thirty-five gold crowns for whoever decides to join up? What if half the town decides they would rather risk facing the Wretched for a month's wages than play it safe at home?" Israfael hooked one leg over the other, booted feet propped against the elongated table in the center of the balcony space. He had situated himself in the seat closest to the darkest corner of the room, shadows covering half of his body leaving only his feet exposed to the dimly lit light above. He made a noise, something that sounded like a cross between a snicker and a snort, as he tossed the flyer to the ground behind him.

"N'nowa duila amin a' onpa'i ten' ta..." The timbre of his voice held a saturated note of amusement, lips quirked into a teasing sort of smile. Although she couldn't see much of his expression from where she was standing, he had a feeling that she could tell just the sort of look he was giving her. He hoped she hadn't lost her sense of humor when he hadn't been looking. Israfael waited a beat before shrugging, as if the comment he had just made didn't matter.

He pressed his lips together, rocking back in his chair so that it was balancing on two legs. He was starting to get bored, it had been a while since he felt like he had something to do. It was making him unbelievably antsy. Rafe breathed harshly out of his nose, clicking his tongue, "Relax, ai'mithe. Someone is bound to turn up before we both die of old age."

"---name is Em, I believe." As if answering his silent prayer for something interesting to happen, a voice drifted up from the main floor below. Rafe arched a brow from under his hood gesturing towards the area the phrase had come from, "See, new friends already." He sighed dryly, pulling his gloves off his hands. The leather hit the table with a sharp fwapp, unsheathing the dagger hanging off his belt. The barely useful light above glimmered off the silver of the blade as he ran the edge carefully under his nails. It was an automatic thing to do, an anxious tic, that gave something for his hands to do.

"--looking for an Em," Came another voice a few seconds later. Rafe tilted his head to the side, pausing just long enough to hold up two fingers for her to see. If she was even paying attention to him at this point.
"Aye, there's an Em who's rented out the loft--"
"Tsk, another crown bites the dust." His grumbled phrase cut off the rest of whatever the barkeep was saying. Whatever it was, it was most likely just giving them directions.

Amaranth had been smart to instruct the bartender to send anyone looking for an Em or The Silver Kestrel Company up to the loft. It was a convenient way to have people come to them instead of having to physically seek them out. The creeks in the floorboards he heard through the wall behind him told him that someone was coming up the stairs. One pair of footsteps were slightly heavier than the other, the slight tap that followed every other footstep made him assume someone was walking with a cane or staff of some sort, and the faint sound of something clicking reminded him of glass tapping together. He twirled the tip of his blade against the flesh of his index finger, barely breathing as he listened. The second entity gave him mild concern, he or she wasn't as noisy. Not that either of them were really stomping about like Orcs, but he couldn't discern much.

When both figures turned the corner, Rafe paused spinning the dagger for a moment to look the two of them over.
Robes. Steel bracers. Staff. Blind. Satchel. Male. Human.
Light armor. Mobility. Daggers. Moongaurde? No. Backpack. Male. Isilhin.

He hummed, deeming them not an immediate threat to Amaranth and began to spin the blade in his hand once more.
"Take a seat." He stated, quite curtly, knowing full well that Amaranth would make up for his disregard for hospitality. He could have been nicer, but he didn't really see much of a point. In his mind, these adventurers weren't here to make friends. They were here for the crowns and maybe the adrenaline of what a trip like this promised. Nevertheless, he knew she would make the attempt. He could almost feel her disapproval of his rudeness from where he was sitting.

"Let's get this party started, shall we?" His leather boots hit the floor with a thud, leaning his body into the light just slight enough for them to see the bottom half of his face in a bit more detail. The right side of his mouth curled up a bit higher than the left, twirling the tip of the blade against the wood of the table.

⊰~Translation~⊱​

ai'mithe- A nickname Israfael has always used for Amaranth, means 'little rat'
Mani -what?
Amin n'nowa ikotane -I don't think so.
N'nowa duila amin a' onpa'i ten' ta -Don't expect me to pay for it.

 

[shadowz1995]

If Jayson could see, his eyes would have flicked to the smaller gentlemen who had pulled up beside him and asked for the same exact thing he did. The blind man was aware the smaller one did not know they were here for the same person so the curt interruption was excusable. It seems this young lad was more in need of coin than he was.

The barkeep explained that the escort in question was in the loft above. It was easy enough. Now, it was time to meet this person and see what were the details behind this little excursion.

As the human and... Jayson couldn't exactly tell but his steps were very light. When he had spoken to the barkeep, it sounded like he may have been trying to sound tough for some reason. The vocal chords sounded a bit strange for someone with such a light step. The staff wielder could tread lightly if need be but in a bustling and rowdy tavern? It was hardly the place. Still, to each his own. If he wanted to proceed cautiously so be it.

It was only when they reached the door that the scent hit him. Normally, he would be able to smell individuals from far off but given the fact the bar was full today, it acted as a smokescreen. But they were close now. Two sets of breaths.... one was lighter than the other. The one who didn't approach also had a pleasant scent to them, while the one who did approach didn't have much of a scent at all. Just the scent of... what seemed like leather. The footsteps of the one who approached were as light if not lighter than the young man who came to do this quest with him. It was when the one that took point in the conversation spoke, that Jayson recognized him as Male. The sweet smelling one behind him, the blind man could only assume was female.

One may have considered his behavior and manner of speech rude, but Jayson was a soldier. He was constantly around far worse for much, much less. It was clear the that male meant business and he wanted it to be done. The male elf leaned forward in his seat, or it sounded that way at least and finally spoke after Jayson took the seat he was offered.

"Hello." He said with a warm smile underneath the hood. He pulled the hood off and sat up straight to be at attention. "I understand you are in need of an escort and I just so happen to be very good at keeping people alive. Human or otherwise." He said with a chuckle.

 

[Lekiel]

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Ameranth Faenalla

[div class=miniBox][div class="miniText mini1"] [div class=bar][div class=title]Personas[/div][div class=barText]Ameranth[/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]PC Interactions[/div][div class=barText] Kipsy Hell0NHighWater shadowz1995 [/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]OOC[/div][div class=barText]Just a little filler while we wait![/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]Location[/div][div class=barText]Weeping Wyvern Tavern[/div][/div] [/div][/div] [div class=bigBox][div class=bigScroll] [div class="textbox big1"][div class=title]✤ ✤ ✤[/div]

"Where are you going to get thirty-five gold crowns for whoever decides to join up? What if half the town decides they would rather risk facing the Wretched for a month's wages than play it safe at home?" The mildly irritated tones of her shadow snatched her attention away from her reverie. Pocketing the parchment in the folds of her cloak, her gloved hand bumped against a small rough object.

"Well m'dear Rafe... for one I'm quite sure the pamphlets have been delivered to selected locations and not half the town. Two... I know you might hate the snotty look Durothil gave you..." Ameranth continued, referring to the Barkeeper of the Weeping Wyvern, "but that man has quite the standard when it comes to assessing potentials." And he'd proven himself on quite a few occasion's Ameranth had decided to make use of her erstwhile clandestine adventuring 'company'. Some things were better off done under a private name than with the Royal Princess' seal. Durothil had come well recommended then, when she'd approached him years ago under the guise of Em; a rather well-to-do ranger of likely 'noble-birth'. Anyone who didn't make the cut would've been turned away.

"N'nowa duila amin a' onpa'i ten' ta..." Rafe had quipped snidely, causing a short tinkling ahah! to burst from Ameranth's throat, though she silenced it before it was more than a syllable.
N'nowa duila amin a' onpa'i ten' ta: Don't expect me to pay for it.

"Uuma dela, Israfael. Amin sinta eithel'san Sereg'wethrin tuulo' ho harma!" She replied with mirth casting a cheery overlay to her words. Being outside the castle on her own ostensibly made her feel this way, despite the grim circumstances. Less guarded, more herself. Just Ameranth, not some pontifical princess as some might've made her out to be. She'd long ago accepted her royal disposition. No doubt many might've envied her, had they not known the burden that must be borne in leadership, especially during a time such as this. It had been quite lonely for a long time... until the night a certain assassin thought to steal her breath away.
Uuma dela, Israfael. Amin sinta eithel'san Sereg'wethrin tuulo' ho harma! - Don't worry, Israfael. I know better than to part an assassin with his gold!

They settled into comfortable silence after then. Much as they had been for most of that evening. Several times she thought she heard a break in the tempo of rowdy harmony in the floors below, but perhaps Durothil must've turned them away. She turned to cast her gaze down to streets below once more, a sigh escaping her lips as she thought of the state of the lands. Many things didn't bode right, and it all seemed to be slowly unraveling, likely trying to stop a leaky bucket with nothing but your hands.

"Relax, ai'mithe. Someone is bound to turn up before we both die of old age." Her companion assured her, perhaps reading her sigh differently. Nevertheless, his comment struck a chord within her.

That would be nice... dying of old age...

They both heard the inquiry at the same time. Ameranth's posture immediately straightened, and she grasped at the piece of mockwood root she kept in her pocket. A precautionary measure, but a temporary one. Adjusting her veil, making sure they shrouded all but her pale-blue eyes, she waited with bated breath for the first of their catch.

"Take a seat." Rafe offered to the two coinseekers who'd just stepped into their dimly lit loft. Ameranth had remained silent watching with curious eyes as the two took in their surroundings and their hosts.

A blind edan... and a... child... First impressions were very deceiving of course, but it nevertheless wrought a wondering arch to the princess' brow. Peculiar choices by Durothil this time around.

"Vedui, mellonea..." She welcomed them with a nod and a greeting. Her voice conveniently warped into a nondescript androgynous tone, courtesy of the mockwood root. An extremely rare find, courtesy of Rafe from his time within the Conclave of Shadows. She had thought thrice about using it, but finally decided that the cost was worth it. She couldn't take any risks, at least until they were a comfortable distance away from An`Falithe.
Vedui, mellonea... - Greetings, friends...

"I understand you are in need of an escort and I just so happen to be very good at keeping people alive. Human or otherwise." The human said with a chuckle, straight to the point.

Narrowed icy blue orbs leveled at him as the temperature in the room seemed to plummet. "I would take more care with your choice of words, human... there are those who have been charged for less these days. Elf or otherwise." She'd said it in even tones, though whether there was a threat evident in her voice, was up to the listener. She let her words hang in the air for a moment before her posture softened and she walked over to lean against a table, gesturing for them to speak with a wave of her hands.

"But come now, we haven't been properly introduced... I am Em, as you might've guessed... and this is my companion... Rafe. Tell me of yourselves, and if you have taken the journey to Cal`Ancalen before." Ameranth spoke airily as her gaze shifted to look at the younger clean-faced elf who had been silent for a while.

⊰~✤~⊱​

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[doneanddusted]

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[div class=Heading]NYMERIA FAENALLA[/div]
[/div][div class=Container][div class=Textbox][div class=Text]Nymeria sat in a garden, surrounded by birds and small mice and weird bugs- the usual. The name “garden” was admittedly not all that accurate- the area was more of a ruined courtyard, with an overgrowth of weeds and weird planties crawling through cracks in the group and up onto the dirty walls. Nymeria liked to be here, though. It was one of the areas of the castle where nobody really went, for it’d been abandoned ever since her mother died. At least, that’s what her attendants told her.

The birds surrounding the young princess braided her red-brown hair, and the mice and snakes and little cockroaches watched as she frantically scribbled out an essay. Nymeria was supposed to have started this essay a week ago… but she just simply couldn’t find the motivation to write it- not until the deadline stared straight into her eyes. It wasn’t her fault. Estanessedan was just the most dry, pretentious book she’d ever laid her eyes upon. Or- well, she probably would’ve liked it if she wasn’t forced to read it. Nymeria wrote the last sentence of essay and let out a deep sigh. She looked around at her animal friends, who all looked back at her with curiosity.

“Hiraetha,” she said. “Amin n’naa sai-quene.”
Sorry. I haven’t spoken much.

The animals, of course, did not speak back.

“Ummm… amin anta kel sii’.” Nymeria stood up, brushing the dirt off of her dress. “Namaarie!”
Ummm... I have to go now. Farewell!

She quickly made her way towards the normal parts of the castle.

»»————-　♔　-————««​

With her essay papers in her room and the rest of the evening completely open for her to do whatever, Nymeria decided that roaming around would be nice. So she donned her “commoner clothes” for better movement and her usual mask and scarf and cloak to conceal herself. Then, after making sure her own attendants wouldn’t snitch, she snuck out of the castle- which was remarkably easy for her to do. There’d been times when Nymeria simply walked out the front entrance, and nobody really took notice. Nymeria found it both liberating and depressing.

For a while, the young princess wandered around the streets of An’ Falithe. Finally, she caught sight of The Weeping Wyvern, one of the taverns her friends often took her to. Nymeria walked in, breathing in warm air and the scent of alcohol.

“Misha!” Some scrawny isilhin waved.

The isilhin- her name was Reina- ran over to Nymeria and tugged on her hand, pulling her over to a table in the back.

“What are you doing here?” the silvery elf asked. “Nice mask, by the way.”

“Uhh… thanks,” Nymeria shrugged, remembering to change her voice. “I just came here to like, chill.”

She furrowed her brow.

Reina pushed over a tall glass to Nymeria. “Laure?”
Mead?

Nymeria took a few gulps before handing it back. She sighed and let herself slink down a little bit. Instantly, she caught sight of a new flyer on the Request Board. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out the letters on the paper, but found that she couldn’t read it very clearly. So Nymeria decided to take a closer look.

The Silver Kestral Company is seeking able-bodied and accomplished adventurers to act as escorts to Cal`Ancalen in the far north… a sizeable upfront of seven gold crowns will be offered should applicants be deemed suitable for the job. Upon completion, the reward will be five times that amount…

Thirty five gold crowns? Nymeria thought of the money she’d earned (read: stolen). Thirty five… was tasty. Very tasty.

“You’re not thinking of joining, are you?”

Nymeria turned to see Reina.

“Uh…”

“En, mellonamin,” Reina sighed. “I know you don’t have a family, but you’re not going to make it.”
Look, friend...

“What do you mean, I’m not going to make it? Animals literally braid my hair.”

“That’s not… that’s not useful, lle unguerea.”
You hollow one

“Yeah, yeah,” Nymeria sighed.

They stood around for a moment.

“Well, whatever!” Nymeria threw her hands up. “There’s no harm in trying.”

“M-Misha…”

“If I don’t get in, then boo-hoo. And if I do get in, then I at least get seven gold crowns.”

“Or you fucking die.”

“Whatever, everyone does at some point.”

“Amin feuya ten’ lle.”
You disgust me.

“Amin weera,” Nymeria grinned with her eyes. She called over the barkeep. “So… where is this ‘Em’ person?”
I agree.

Durothil seemed to stare at her for a moment, before telling her where to go. Nymeria thanked him.

“I’ll see you later,” she said to Reina.

“Mela lle,” Reina waved. “I hope you get rejected!”
Love you

“Mela lle.”

Nymeria made her way up to the loft, finding herself behind two others that seemed to be going in the same direction. An isilhin and a human. Cool. Nymeria followed them into the dim-lit loft. She hung around in the back, trying to maintain a decently low profile without seeming full on suspicious.

"I understand you are in need of an escort and I just so happen to be very good at keeping people alive. Human or otherwise,” the human chuckled.

The cloaked figure (it seemed appropriate to assume that they were “Em”) responded with more or less a threat. Nymeria raised an eyebrow. For sure, Em was an elf.

"But come now, we haven't been properly introduced…” Em turned towards the small isilhin.. “I am Em, as you might've guessed... and this is my companion... Rafe. Tell me of yourselves, and if you have taken the journey to Cal`Ancalen before."

Nymeria decided that now wasn’t her time to speak.
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[shadowz1995]

The voice that came from the sweet smelling individual was.... odd. Jayson was usually never wrong when it came to identifying genders but that voice was not very defining. No, in fact, the blind man could not quite place what gender that voice could be paired with. He was still inclined to think female because of the scent but for all he knew, the person liked sweet scents. Perhaps that had recently eaten some deserts and that was throwing him off?

Regardless, he would find out in time. The escort mission was a long one after all.

The man's smile never broke and one could easily tell it was genuine. Not the veiled grins of lords and ladies in court. The sweet one's meaning was not lost on the staff-wielder and while it could definitely sound like a threat, there was no bite in the person's voice. There was no edge to it. Threats always had that quality of blade. Whether it was an executioner's axe being sharpened or a hidden blade in a crowd. It was hard to miss, at least for him.

He adjusted his posture to a more relaxed position, "Those that would have been charged, aren't me....Elf?" Jayson purposely didn't really call out any races before because there was truly no way for him to know without touching but being called by his race was practically a dead giveaway. That was something elves tended to do. Humans settled for insults like knife-ear or the like. To elves, simply being labeled as a human or edan could be insult enough if they were high born... which most of them considered themselves to be. At least, in his experience.

"Too many people owe me their lives in this city or the lives of loved ones. As I said, I'm very good at keeping people alive."

The man then gestured at his face. A variety of small scars could be seen there but it was mainly what the wrapping hid that he was referring to, "At any cost. My name is Jayson Velian, a soldier and healer for the better part of two decades. And honestly, I'm here because I want to help. Not so much for the gold. It's nice to meet you. Em and Rafe."

Jayson's body turned slightly towards the newcomer and he waved politely at the person. He had heard them approach but was currently in conversation. A feminine scent as well but with Em being in the same room, Jayson would hold that assumption until he heard the person speak as well.

doneanddusted Lekiel Hell0NHighWater Kipsy

 

[Lefic]

Shadows gather, and now the hunt begins.

The sun threw down a thousand shadows. Footsteps pealed out all around from the river of people rushing down the main street. The din was added to by vapid chatter, hearty laughter, angered shouts, and the far-off clang of a hammer on an anvil. The assassin manoeuvred skillfully through the throng, turning her body sideways, ducking, and stepping over every obstacle in her path as fluidly as if by instinct. All other irrelevant sensory inputs became secondary; the assassin was wholly focussed on the cloaked man hurrying frantically through the crowd, pushing desperately through the bustle. Her eyes were trained on that plump frame of his that made his burgundy cloak bulge; her ears were attuned to the sharp clattering of his footfalls, his laboured breaths, the rustle of his rich clothing and the clinking of gold in his purse; her hand was poised over the dagger at her thigh, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. He veered left into a dingy alleyway, sheltered away from the sight of others. His biggest mistake. Sanine stalked him in.

It shall not end until their death,

With primal rapidity, she descended upon him. With a kick to the centre of his back, he toppled over, carried forward by the weight of his body. The impact had likely bruised him badly, and his heft kept him pinned to the ground. Gross sobs shook the man's frame as he pulled himself across the dirty ground like a slug. "Spare me, oh, spare me," he moaned pitifully, choking on his own tears. A kick to the side—he flipped over onto his back. He still crawled backwards slowly on his elbows, awkwardly stumbling over his cloak. "I have money, money. How much do you want? My purse, h-here!" He rolled the money pouch over to Sanine. She picked it up and emptied its contents into her own.

Still, she advanced.

"At home! More crowns! More crowns than you could ever imagine!" he implored.

A wry smile pulled up one side of the assassin's lips. "I am aware," she drawled. "Though, it's already in my possession. Good luck bribing me with money you don't have." At this, her target's head snapped up. White filled his eyes as recognition flooded his mind. He stammered to the beat of his hammering heart, and pointed a pudgy finger that shook like a leaf in a storm.

"L-Leane! You--! Why are you here? I thought--"

"Wrong," the assassin clarified. She'd taken the liberty to visit her Mark a few days prior as a travelling merchant willing to do business with him. In stolen clothes and an affected manner, she'd fit in with him easily enough. She had learned his routine, learned of his plans to leave the city, learned what a vile man he was—and left with pockets heavy with gold.

I shall take no life of the innocent, spare none guilty, harm no children,

The man on the ground sucked in his snot noisily as he hyperventilated. He stared at her with silent pleading. She met his gaze, but all she saw were the same eyes that had ogled her lecherously the other day as his clammy hands groped at her inappropriately. All she saw was filth.

Sanine often tried to find some light of good in her targets. Something worth saving. Recently, she'd started to give up. Who stays innocent? Who isn't guilty? she asked herself. She could think of no living examples.

I shall make no sound and leave no trace.

Sanine approached. Step after step after step, the silent executioner closed in on her prey.

I am the blade in the shadows, I am a face in the crowd, I am the one who hides in plain sight.

The feeble light that fell into the alleyway illuminated her face ominously to the cowering man. With a face as still and cold as a frozen lake, she lifted an arm behind her back. One by one, her fingers curled and tightened over the handle of an axe. She drew it out from beneath her cloak and raised it above her head, gripping it with both hands. In that moment, her eyes looked as dead as a corpse's. A rank smell seeped into the air as the man fouled himself. Nothing could be heard bar the chattering of his teeth.

"Say goodbye to your wretched life, Audric Bellmayne."

"NO--"

I pledge my blade, my loyalty, and my life to the Conclave.

As swift as a crash of lightning, her axe came ripping down through the air and cleaved his skull in two, splattering brains and blood onto the alleyway.

She wiped her axe on his cloak and retreated into a side street coming off the alley. Using her polished daggers as a mirror, Sanine checked her appearance was presentable and unstained by blood. Licking her thumb, she used the saliva to wipe away a splatter of blood on her brow. There. All good now.

* * *​

Sanine was sat at the counter of the Weeping Wyvern, in the process of drinking away her earnings. Craning her head back, she gulped down another swig out of her tankard, some of the alcohol streaming down the sides of her mouth as her exposed neck bobbed. When the tankard had been drained, she slammed it upon the table and, her head suddenly rising like somebody resurfacing from the depths of a lake, took in a sharp gasp of air. The thief closed her eyes, taking a moment to endure the burning of her throat. She was used to drink, and had not yet had enough to melt her solemn demeanour. Amongst the cheery atmosphere of the tavern, Sanine stood out like the face of Eweca in the night sky. Even the cold steel of the daggers strapped to her thighs seemed to radiate more warmth than the lone assassin.

Every now and again, someone would approach the bartender and ask for an Em and would either be directed upstairs or sent away. Each time the name was uttered, a strange look spread across Sanine's face. It was the name of somebody long lost to her; hearing it was like a dagger in her heart.

After a while, her curiosity piqued, and she slid a flyer on the table over to sit under her eyes. The assassin pinned the sheet to the desk with one hand and used a finger to underline the first word. Squinting her eyes and furrowing her brow, she began the tedious endeavour of reading. She stumbled over the text, reading like one lost on a journey; taking wrong turns, having to double back over a word, and at times being left stranded on a particular sentence. Reading names was easy; there were only so many names that could exist, and they were short enough to digest in one go. But Sanine would rather battle a Halduk than read a book.

She sounded out the words to herself as she went along. "The Silver"—those words were easy to her—"K-Kettle?... Kettle Company... Able-bodied and accomplished—yes, that's me... Escorts? Is this a prosti-- Oh... to Cal'Ancalen... Mhm... Something about danger... More danger... Seven gold crowns?!" Her eyes bulged. "Thirty-five gold crowns?!" The prospect of gold alone guaranteed her willingness to join, despite her aversion to sticking around others.

Protecting somebody? How hard can that be? It's just reverse assassination.

Dusting crumbs off her lap, Sanine rose from her chair. "Barkeep, I'm looking for an 'Em'."

The rogue made her way up the stairs, finding a group of others already congregated in the loft. Standing the furthest away from the others, Sanine, with her hood lowered, openly observed them. "So this is the Silver Kettle Company," she mused to herself. "Two children and a blind man..." She knew not to underestimate them, though; judging by appearance had been a fatal mistake for many of her enemies.

Sanine waited just outside the reach of the shadows, revealing herself just enough to be noticed but not purposely drawing attention to herself.

 

[Hell0NHighWater]

xxxx

Location: Weeping Wyvern

Interactions: ai'mithe Lekiel | New Guy Kipsy | Little Spies Lefic & doneanddusted | The Blind Healer shadowz1995

ISRAFAEL

"I understand you are in need of an escort and I just so happen to be very good at keeping people alive. Human or otherwise."
His brow raised slightly, gaze shifting towards the man with the cloth cover over his eyes. He couldn't help but think that was a peculiar turn of phrase. Most who went on expeditions like these only bragged about how good they were at killing things. Death, was a very old and infinite friend. It knew no discrimination. It didn't choose sides. In many ways, the end was a comfort because of its certainty. Some opposed this, naturally, and sought to curb death with tonics and powders to cure ailments. In the end, they only prolonged the inevitable.

"I would take more care with your choice of words, human... there are those who have been charged for less these days. Elf or otherwise." The Isilhin tilted his head slightly, listening to the monotonous voice that carried through the space in response. It was so different to the lyrical cadence he had grown so accustom to. He could only think about how it didn't really suit her, even if the disguise was necessary for now.
"But come now, we haven't been properly introduced... I am Em, as you might've guessed... and this is my companion... Rafe," A slightly sour look focused in on her from across the room, begrudgingly lifting a hand in form of an introduction, "It's Israfael."
Amaranth ignored his correction, "Tell me of yourselves, and if you have taken the journey to Cal`Ancalen before."

"Those that would have been charged, aren't me....Elf?"
"Ah, perceptive aren't we?" The sarcasm dripped from his lips like a dagger coated in poison. He placed the blade fully on the table, the shadow of a smirk still curling at the edge of his mouth. His emerald gaze shifted over the man sitting a couple chairs down from him. The edan was smiling. A genuine curve of the mouth, friendly in almost every aspect. Israfael couldn't tell if he was just a good actor or someone actually trying to leave a good impression. It unnerved him slightly, a part of him would have felt safer if he could see the man's eyes. Few could ever fake emotion in the eyes, though for a blind man he assumed that was a moot point.

"Too many people owe me their lives in this city or the lives of loved ones. As I said, I'm very good at keeping people alive."
A slight breath of air left him, followed by another and another until he was chuckling lowly. The irony of sitting across from a man who saved people wasn't lost on him. Still, he supposed that skill would be rather useful to have around. There were many things he knew, many things he was fairly talented at, but the art of healing was not one of them.

"At any cost. My name is Jayson Velian, a soldier and healer for the better part of two decades. And honestly, I'm here because I want to help. Not so much for the gold. It's nice to meet you. Em and Rafe."
"How noble of you." He snorted, shifting his attention towards the other presences he had yet to address. It seemed their little adventure was gathering quite the following. The chair scrapped against the wood of the floor as he stood.

"And what of the rest of you? Are the crowns your motivation, Ai'dulinas?" His head turned towards the figure half shrouded in shadow, humming a little in amusement. His shoulders lifted into a half shrug, tilting his head back towards the other two figures that stood closer to the door. "Not that it matters one way or the other." He heaved a bit of a sigh, as if this whole exchange was far too bothersome, "As I was so familiarly introduced before, my name is Israfael. I'd say it's a pleasure, but it'd be a lie." He was quiet for a heartbeat, both brows arched in mute expectancy.

"If none of you have names, how will I distinguish the silence in which you three seem to communicate?" His arms folded over his chest, grin quirked a bit crookedly. He was more than aware of how he taunted them, but what better way to see the true colors of those who would potentially be around Amaranth. He knew he couldn't be everywhere at once, knew that he had to place a kernal of trust in others if she was going to remain safe. But he was a very hard man to impress and a very hard man to gain trust with. Even so, there would eventually come a time where he had to make sure they had her back. Knowing their motivations only helped affirm the kind of person they were.

Reaching over, he picked the dagger up from the table and slipped it back into its sheath. He took a step further into the light of the room, the shadows of his hood doing little to shroud his features. He looked like someone who was having far too much fun antagonizing a nest of ants with a large stick. His mouth twitched for a moment, as if about to unleash another volley of sarcastic words only to settle on saying nothing at all.

A short but hot breath of air left his lips, shifting his focus back to the elf behind him. "Well? Do you think this is enough?"

⊰~Translation~⊱​

Ai'dulinas- Little birds

 

[doneanddusted]

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[div class=Heading]MISHA?[/div]
[/div][div class=Container][div class=Textbox][div class=Text]As Nymeria looked at Em and Rafe- wait, what was the errand boy doing here? Nymeria narrowed her eyes (not like anyone could see them). Em’s companion was Israfael? What was he now, some two-timer? Fuck secrecy, Nymeria would go home and tell Ameranth all about this.

"If none of you have names, how will I distinguish the silence in which you three seem to communicate?" Rafe asked everyone with his typical taunting voice.

Nymeria never really trusted Rafe, nor did she really understand his friendship with Ameranth. But at this point, Nymeria knew that she’d never really understand the two. Fucking weirdos. After some more silence, Rafe turned back to “Em”.

“I’m Misha,” Nymeria finally said, almost forgetting to maintain a different voice. “I- uh-”

People were looking at Nymeria. She messed around with her braid.

“I want to help people, and make money- but like I’m not like money hungry, you know? I’d just like to be useful and go to Cal’ Ancalen. The extra crowns are just… nice,” Nymeria looked around. “I uh, I have experience keeping people alive and uh… fighting. Falariel blessing and all.”

Well, when Nymeria said fighting, she really meant street fights and running from authorities.

But what was the worst that could happen? The others would look at her in disgust, and she’d get kicked out. Then she could go back to the castle and tell Ameranth that her little puppy dog was going off and about.

A worthy investment, really.

[i'd tag but im lazy]
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[Lekiel]

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Ameranth Faenalla

[div class=miniBox][div class="miniText mini1"] [div class=bar][div class=title]Personas[/div][div class=barText]Ameranth[/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]PC Interactions[/div][div class=barText] Kipsy Hell0NHighWater shadowz1995 Lefic doneanddusted [/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]OOC[/div][div class=barText]Moving us along now! Those who want to make a post, do so.
Next one from me will be on the road.[/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]Location[/div][div class=barText]Weeping Wyvern Tavern[/div][/div] [/div][/div] [div class=bigBox][div class=bigScroll] [div class="textbox big1"][div class=title]✤ ✤ ✤[/div]

"It's Israfael." Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the mumbled correction, but her poise never once wavered. She wasn't sure how many people often called the assassin in such a manner; there weren't many no doubt, but she'd have to be more careful with sounding too affectionate. The princess inwardly chastised herself. Such furtive operations wasn't usually her forte.

"Too many people owe me their lives in this city or the lives of loved ones. As I said, I'm very good at keeping people alive." The blind healer was continuing on, something of what he said striking a semblance of amusement from her assassin friend. She could sense the edan's confidence in his own abilities, something that might've been misconstrued as arrogance. Nonetheless, she discerned a certain geniality to his conduct and the earnestness of which he spoke hinted at more of the former.

Ameranth kept her own council, though underneath her veil a rueful smile painted her lips. His confidence in his own abilities was noteworthy, and Felariel surely looked upon him favorably if his interactions with those of her own kin thus far afforded him the belief that he would be spared injustice. The thought that her work to change her people's perception of their allies weren't for naught warmed her heart, but yet, a part of her saw this as a naive and potentially fatal notion on his part. She could only hope that he would never have to experience anything more than a passing disdain.

The man then gestured at his face. A variety of small scars could be seen there but it was mainly what the wrapping hid that he was referring to, "At any cost. My name is Jayson Velian, a soldier and healer for the better part of two decades. And honestly, I'm here because I want to help. Not so much for the gold. It's nice to meet you. Em and Rafe."

"Mae govannen Jayson Velian... It is good to have you. I am sure you will find that with gold, you'll be able to aid more people." Amaranth nodded in his direction before directing her attention to the others.
Mae govannen - Well met

There were three others who hung back seemingly with a preference to confide with the shadows. Pale-blues gazed over at the motley crew with which Durothil had supplied her with, wondering if she should speak further. But before she could utter a word, Rafe had made up her mind. Taking a step forward, the erstwhile assassin somewhat 'aggressively' began provoking a response from them. It took a great deal of willpower from the princess to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

"Well? Do you think this is enough?" Israfael casually inquired.

"They will do... for now." Ameranth nodded in reply, eyes focused on the masked effeminate individual who was awkwardly introducing herself.

“I’m Misha.... I- uh-” She hesitated a moment, fidgeting with her braid.

“I want to help people, and make money- but like I’m not like money hungry, you know? I’d just like to be useful and go to Cal’ Ancalen. The extra crowns are just… nice,” The girl glanced around. “I uh, I have experience keeping people alive and uh… fighting. Falariel blessing and all.”

Ameranth almost found herself giggling, if she hadn't the presence to maintain her composure. Something about Misha struck the ranger oddly, a certain unpretentious wide-eyed demeanor that couldn't be hid behind a faceless mask. It was almost endearing. For a moment, she thought Durothil had made a mistake, her head tilting mildly to one side as regarded Misha's similarly blue-orbs with curiosity. Interesting...

Ameranth paused for a moment longer, as if debating the offer of the other woman until finally, she spoke "creosa, Misha.... I am sure we will find your experience invaluable. Ameranth nodded slightly in her direction, accepting the ranger into their fold.
creosa - welcome

The princess waited until the others had introduced themselves, before briefing them on their rough plan. "We will meet at midnight. Take the Northwestern path out of the city gates... walk further along the path for two miles then head north off the road. You will find us a hundred paces in. Let me know if you do not have a mount... I will also provide weapon permits for those who require them," Ameranth briefly turned to regard the two humans of their group, though her gaze lingered longer on the female. Sanine... she knew the name, but it had belonged to a mere child from years ago. There were others of that name so she couldn't be sure. In any case, it wouldn't do to pursue the curiousity further at this point in time.

"If there are no other concerns... I will bid you farewell for now. You may collect your upfronts from Israfaelfrom Durothil the barkeep before you leave."

⊰~✤~⊱​

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[Lefic]

A wry smile that didn’t reach her eyes played itself across Sanine’s face. How noble, she thought of the young Elf’s intentions. “I guess I’m the money hungry one, then,” she opined dryly, raising her voice from her position at the back of the loft. “I couldn’t care less for the danger or the morals. A lot of coin and a free trip to Cal’Ancalen? I’m in.” Her voice was gravelly, riding a thin line between sultry and gruff. Whenever she spoke, it always sounded the slightest bit strained; when younger, she’d forced her voice to be deeper than natural to appear less vulnerable which had had its effect on her throat. Over time, the low pitch became her resting one, though she rarely spoke to use it.

Two other figures in the room drew her attention. The way they stood, the way they interacted with the shadows, that dangerous, cold look in their eyes—it all reminded her of herself and the Infiltrator who’d trained her. Members of the Conclave or lowly scum? she wondered.

A sigh loosed itself from her lips. Probably both.

The assassin was about to fall into reverie when a sharp realisation struck her mind. I haven’t introduced myself... Do I use a fake name? To hide my identity?... But then a melancholic look flitted across her features when she realised there was no point in doing so; who knew Sanine? She was just a figure in the dark, the lone drinker in a tavern, the knife at your throat in the middle of the night. She wasn’t anybody to anyone here, to anyone anywhere. Dead to the world, she was nobody. “Sanine.” S-A-N-I-N-E, just like she taught me.

Sanine listened patiently as Em addressed them. “We will meet at midnight. Take the Northwestern path out of the city gates... walk further along the path for two miles then head north off the road. You will find us a hundred paces in. Let me know if you do not have a mount... I will also provide weapon permits for those who require them.” It was obvious that last remark was directed at the Edans in the room. For what stupid reason are we not allowed weapons? Are we not people too? Or is it just so Elves can take advantage of defenceless Edans? Her face contorted into a scowl as she recalled several occasions in Numenlad when her life had depended on a weapon she wasn’t allowed to have.

She’d had a weapon permit before. Not a real one, of course. She didn’t even need one; her weapons were well hid enough that nobody could tell that she was practically armoured in daggers and knives. It was a wonder she did not jangle when she walked. But still... A real weapon permit? Like a Valiant? Childish glee suffused her unbidden. The Edan’s face glowed through its static expression of apathy, her apple-green eyes twinkling in excitement. “I’ll be needing a weapon permit.” She could, for once, wear her axe across her back and on display like a hero! Or perhaps heroes wielded longswords... No matter—her daggers were basically really short swords, weren’t they? And—a mount! A trusty steed and forever equine companion! It’d be like when she rode upon her father’s back, pretending to be a warrior princess from the old Edan empire. Sanine cleared her throat and affected a nonchalance she was far from feeling, “A mount too,” she declared.

 

[Lekiel]

⊰~C H A P T E R 1 - Daughter of Kings~⊱​

All elvish translations can be found at the paragraph's end, unless intentionally vague
Theme: Bound by Purpose​

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Ameranth Faenalla

[div class=miniBox][div class="miniText mini1"] [div class=bar][div class=title]Personas[/div][div class=barText]???, ???, Ameranth Faenalla[/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]PC Interactions[/div][div class=barText] - [/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]OOC[/div][div class=barText]Off we go! Time is just after dawn. [/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]Location[/div][div class=barText]Half a day's ride north of An`Falithe[/div][/div] [/div][/div] [div class=bigBox][div class=bigScroll] [div class="textbox big1"][div class=title]✤ ✤ ✤[/div]

"SILDORIN!" A cry of purest anguish cut through the darkness like a blaze of light. A flash of crimson splitting the once endless oblivion open. Roused from stupor a body of leaden weight shifted wearily.

She opened her eyes with a snap, instinct demanding she try to bolt upright, but an intense flash of pain burst throughout her body and she fell back to the ground with a choked cry. White blinding flecks splotched against her vision. What... is... this? Heat..? Fire... Where am I-?! There's fire everywhere! She could taste the bitter stench of smoke and ash and burning flesh. With immense effort, she rolled to her side and looked down at her hands. Through blurred vision, she saw gauntlets of coppery steel stained with crimson liquid as if she had just dipped her hands into a cauldron of blood. These aren't my hands..! What's happening!? Panic coursed through her veins, smothering and clouding her mind. She had to get up! She had to move!

"Sildorin! Enansal Felariel ma kuila! Uum'bel ar tulema."
Sildorin! Praise Felariel you're alive! Don't move, I'll get you.

There was that voice again, quite clearly male. Somehow she knew it was calling out to her, though she didn't understand nearly everything that was said. The language was definitely foreign, yet at the back of her mind, it sounded strangely familiar. It was an odd feeling. Like hearing unfamiliar syllables as if it was the most natural sounding thing ever, yet it carried no meaning. But she had no time to dwell on it. Her heart was beating wildly as all her sensory acuity returned in a rush of sound and sight. There was a lot of shouting going on, and the billowing flap of feathery wings. She tried to move again, but finally realized why it had been so difficult. The lower half of her body was pinned under a giant armored creature. She couldn't see much from her point of view, just a large armored beast with chestnut brown feathers stained with blood. To her horror, she could see a large gash that tore into one of its crumpled wings so savagely the bone joint had been crushed and ripped out of its socket and it seemed to be only hanging on by a thin layer of skin.

"Andurin... na'uroloki?" Another voice, also male. It took her disoriented brain a moment to realize who had spoken it. She did.
Andurin... the wyrmbeast?

"Ta ndengin vir'rakt." Came the reply, this time much closer. A moment later, a tall anarhin in golden armor appeared over the edge of the feathered beast, strapped to his back was a golden lance. White warpaint marked his handsome features though a jagged scar ran over one of his eyes and despite the brown iris staring directly at her, she knew that eye to be blind. The elf frowned down at her and shook his head sadly as his gaze shifted over to the beast. He touched two fingers to his forehead and bent down towards the beast's head.
It was slain, when I arrived.

"Esta seere'sul Elanti..."
Resting winds find you Elanti...

Her lips hardened into a line. It was as she had feared, her companion didn't make it. "Re vara' ar.." she replied grimly, coughing out a glob of blood to the side. Andurin clenched his jaw, as a fierce look blazed into his eyes.
She protected me.

"Ron qualm sina... nan' yeste vir'ant usin ar quenathra." Andurin approached her side, and braced himself against the beast, preparing to lift. Then a distant shout drew their attention. Andurin whirled about to gaze at the sky, his eyes widening.
The abominations will pay for this... but first, we need to get you out of here.

"Shem!" Her brother hurried back to the task at hand. Bracing his back against the beast, he adjusted his feet and pushed with all his might.
Quickly!

"Tul'e Sildorin, tul'e!" She struggled with everything she got, bit by bit she slipped out from under Elanti's feathered body. Then she heard it. A thunderous roar that cracked across the heavens so loud it was like the rage of a vengeful god. It rattled her skull and struck an inexplicable primal fear into her stricken heart.
Come on Sildorin, come on!

"a'Banalhan!" They had to leave now! Or they were all doomed! With a final shout of effort, she managed to struggle out from under the beast. Immediately, Andurin was by her side, hoisting her up to her feet. Finally off the ground, she could fully take in the extent of where she was. They were on a rocky plateau, the ground below their feet was jet black obsidian rock. Towards the east, Anara's fire had already begun rising above the horizon, though her brilliance was tinged with red. An hour just after dawn perhaps. There were many other forms scattered all over the place, soldiers... Dragonhunters The word flitted unbidden across her mind. Many lay dead, their bodies along with their hippogriff mounts ravaged and burnt beyond recognition. But they had not gone down easily. The twisted and speared remains of many smaller drakes and even two gargantuan crimson dragons overshadowed the rest. It had been a brutal fight. Many still lay injured, though hunters in matte emerald armor were rushing about trying to get them to safety. She looked down to find that one of her feet had been twisted badly out of shape. There was no way she could support herself on her own. She and her brother limped hurriedly towards a crowd of people near the edge of the cliff in a haphazard motion. Several of the hunters saw the golden armored form and rushed to the High King's aid but Andurin waved them back.
The Blightwing!

"Sangan awra, var nadas kel'mala-!" Another deafening roar split across the sky, a raking wail of a thousand tortured souls. So loud and terrifying many of the hunters clutched at their ears and fell on their knees, their morale nearly shattered as wails of despair escaped their lips. Even the proud and noble hippogriffs squawked and bucked. She turned to glance up at Andurin, but instead of the petrified features of a broken man, she only saw a smoldering flame that could kindle the spirits of a thousand men. With a fierce look in his eyes, the High King gazed at his despairing men and took a deep breath.
Gather the injured, we must leave immediately-!

"TEL`QUESSIR!" His shout rang clear and true, and it cut through the clouds of hopelessness like a blazing dawn. There was a brief moment of silence, then the emerald legion rallied to their liege with a resounding cry.

He knew then that they would live to fight another day... But not all of them. If only he knew better.

"San'Aran eska varna, ret n'taum uuma n'alaquel!" Andurin ordered one of the riders as they reached the crowd of gathered hunters ready to depart. Two of the soldiers helped her up into the saddle of one of the hippogriffs but the enormity of what her brother had said suddenly struck a chord within her heart. Dread laid its bony grasp on her spine.
Take the King home, fly swiftly fly low and don't look back!

"Aran..? Mani-? Andurin!?" No... this cannot be! She whirled back on her brother but only saw a warm smile on Andurin's face. His brother reached over and brought their foreheads together in a final act of brotherly love. He reached up with his other hand and tugged on an amulet around his neck, before placing it in her hands.
King..? What-? Andurin!?

"Rin na'elear? Sina e'ta..."
Remember the vision? This is it...

"Ne' Andurin."
No Andurin.

"Ar vesta ma, lle Haran sii' Sildorin." Andurin released him and stood back. He would've gotten off his mount and joined his side, but he was weak. Too weak...
You promised me, you are King now Sildorin.

"Uum sina toror!"
Don't do this brother!


"Meriel sal'wanwa, ar cael banal coi'a Sildorin." There was a certain resignation in his tone, and inside him, he knew his brother had already made up his mind. He was tired. Out of all people Andurin had lost so much, and sacrificed everything. Even made to see the Light of his life taken before his eyes. There was only so much his proud shoulders could bear before it broke. And he had resolved to go, before that happened, like all others before him. That was the horror of the dreaded Beast.
Meriel is gone, I have nothing left to live for Sildorin.

"Mala vhen?" A last-ditch effort to convince him, but he already knew his brother's answer before he even said it.
Your people?

"Ron mala sii'vhen, yeste sen Sildorin ma toror." With that, Andurin shouted a command and the hippogriff leapt into the skies. The sudden movement was too much, and with a yelp of surprise, she lost her balance and fell plummeting into the chasm.
They're your people now, be their leader Sildorin, my brother.

"ANDURIN-!"

⊰~✤~⊱​

Aelyia woke up screaming, one hand outstretched as if trying to clutch at something that was slipping out of her grasp. It took her a moment before she realized that the dream was over and that she was safely on the ground, staring up at a dawning sky. Just like it was in the dream... Half-lidded eyes shifted over to gaze at the stark oak tree which until recently had been her sleeping perch. She felt something poking into her back and with a start, realized that she was surrounded in..

"Hay" a gruff voice finished her thought. It spoke again, after seeing that the girl still hadn't moved a muscle "It's just hay Aelyia, calm down. This is the second time you've fallen out of the tree. I'd be wasting my breath if I told you not to sleep in there, so I had to do something before you broke your neck!"

"Yes uncle, I know..." Aelyia let out a sigh and rubbed her eyes, sinking back down into the soft bedding. She wondered how long he had been watching over her. He'd become more overbearing ever since the nearby village had been pillaged.

"Had that dream again?"

She said nothing but nodded her head. Not caring if the old elf could even see her in the dark. Both were quiet for a moment before the older elf spoke again.

"Come Aelyia, it's not safe outside-"

"Do you know of Andurin?" It could be her imagination, but the young sun elf thought her uncle's posture had stiffened at the mention of the name.

"Of course I do, Aelyia. He's probably selling his overpriced turnips in Cal`Ancalen by now, if the orcs didn't get to him first-"

"No I mean... I mean... from legend? You know the stories you told me of King Sildorin and the Drakarian Wars..?" Aelyia sat upright and fixed her uncle with her piercing bottle green eyes. "I think... I--I just dreamed about it.... it felt so... real uncle" Her voice trailed off into a whisper as her eyes grew distant.

"All dreams are that way... your mother had a very vivid imagination too, just like you."

"And they were speaking in that odd language..."

"Aelyia, you know how dreams are... even common words would sound foreign-"

"B-But I understood them this time-!" The girl whined, a little exasperated her uncle was being dismissive about the whole thing as usual. She reached up to grasp at the small mythrill amulet that hung on a leather thong around her neck, thumbing the cool metal as she often did when lost in thought. Cold northern winds swept down into the valley, bringing with it the promise of winter.

"Aelyia Amloruil, time to head back in." Her uncle spoke firmly, his tone left no room for debate.

"Alright, alright... I'm coming." The young elf extricated herself from the pile of hay and trailed after her uncle. She briefly turned to glance at the slowly brightening horizon.

"A red sun rises..." She spoke her thoughts aloud.

"Aye... Anara mourns, a great battle was fought last night..." Her uncle replied without looking back.

The girl gazed at the dawn for a moment longer before another breeze brought an involuntary shiver to her petite frame. She hurried over to her uncle's side.

"What's for breakfast uncle?"

"Nothing. Until you finish plucking the autumn berries and stacking the firewood."

"By the Goddess, that's torture!"

⊰~✤~⊱​

She did not sleep particularly well that night for some inexplicable reason, though Ameranth suspected she was still pumped up about the whole idea that they were at last, doing something. Even if that something was sneaking out of the palace and traveling all the way to Cal`Ancalen just because she thought she had been seen a premonition.

No... It was real, there's no doubt about that. How she knew it, she didn't know. But she hoped the Librarian would have answers for her, something to make the risks worth it. There was no denying the fact that the princess and her companions were very capable fighters, but to travel in such a small group all the way to the mage city was almost akin to suicide. Almost.

After the little gathering the previous night at the appointed location, they had retrieved horses and ridden through the dark for as long as possible to take advantage of the empty roads. They had led their horses several score yards away from the travelway before setting up a temporary camp. She didn't know how long it would take before Lucien found out where she was heading, but she fully intended to put as much distance as she could between herself and the inevitable search party. Which in hindsight, would be a good thing. Better to have soldiers scouring the roads than rotting behind the city gates.

Ameranth let out a yawn, realizing that she still had her veil on. Adjust the cloth, she climbed out of the large tree root she had taken refuge and headed off in search of the others.

⊰~✤~⊱​

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[shadowz1995]

He had an enjoyable stroll on the way to the meeting site. Jayson had walked beside his mild-mannered steed most of the way. A slate grey mare named Vela. She was no warhorse, racehorse, nor work horse. She wasn't particularly fast and she spooked quite easily to sudden sounds or frightening sights. The ringing of steel being drawn from the sheath immediately made her skittish. Too much weight caused her to become stubborn and lay down. The thing Vela did excel in was patience and caring.

Not to mention, Jayson had spoiled the mare shamelessly and had no intention of stopping. She had served him well when he needed her on the battlefield and she had the scars on her hide to show for it. She deserved all love she could receive.

The blind herbologist didn't ride her for most of the way because he wouldn't be able to tell exactly where he was if he was on horseback. It may have slipped his client's mind but traveling distances for the blind without assistance was something of a hassle. Luckily, Jayson knew this place well and with tapping of certain objects such as rocks or tree stumps beside the road as landmarks, the soldier made it to his destination.

With a hand on the grey mare's neck, he approached the meeting point, using his staff to feel out any potential tree roots that may cause his literal downfall.

Jayson had packed light for this trip. Gathering mostly herbs, food, water, and spices. His spear lay strapped to the horse's flank alongside with a wooden flute and harp (yes a small one. He's not carrying a whole full-sized harp) to add some flavor to the inevitable camps they would have to set up. He would have preferred a violin as the string instrument but considering the nature of their mission and the potential hostilities, other instruments were too loud.

Once he was at, what he assumed, to be the proper spot, he clambered on top of Vela and sat quietly in his saddle. His ears turned in to the ambient sounds around them, listening for an approach. Whether it be friendly or otherwise. He didn't have to wait very long.

Eventually, the seperated group met up once again and things became much easier for Jayson after that. All he had to do was follow the sounds of thundering hooves and let his mount do what she had been trained to do. Which was follow the other riders in a group setting such as this one. The night air was a pleasant and it was an enjoyable ride overall. They rode hard to their destination but it was still enjoyable.

His client had decided to take a rest after what felt like a significant amount of travel and the prospect of it was a welcoming one. Everyone grabbed their own little slices of heaven near their makeshift camp and got about to doing their nightly routine.

Jayson opted to merely remove the gear he had packed on Vela, so the horse could lay down and get her sleep. Contrary to popular belief among the soldiers, horses did need to lie down to sleep as opposed to taking naps while standing. When the great beast laid down to do so, Jayson laid down and rested his back against it and began to play the harp softly until sleep came to claim his senses.


................


One of the things Jayson missed the most after losing his eyesight was what he could feel on his skin. The crack of dawn while one was surrounded by nature. His memory of such a sight was awe-inspiring and while he could still appreciate how it felt, it would never be the whole picture again.

The rest were beginning to stir from their slumbers and the blind man assumed that meant that they were going to be on the road again soon. So, he got to rousing his own horse from her slumber and started mounting the gear on her back once more, followed by feeding her and grooming while everyone got ready

Lekiel

 

[doneanddusted]

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[div class=Heading]MISHA?[/div]
[/div][div class=Container][div class=Textbox][div class=Text](In collaboration with Lekiel )

The night before Nymeria left An’Falithe, she’d laid in her bed with her pouch of gold and thought of how she was to go about everything. A politically insignificant princess leaving was still a princess leaving, and if anything her brother would be mildly upset over his chance of making marriage-related connections with other kingdoms. And- well, Nymeria would like to think that her sister would be upset if she suddenly vanished.

Ameranth…

Nymeria sat up. She ought to tell Ameranth everything.

The young elf left her room and headed over to Ameranth’s chambers. She found the door to be closed.

“Seler’,” Nymeria knocked on it.
Sister

On the other side of the door, the elder princess suddenly found herself in a predicament. Her first instinct was to call back to the voice whom she recognized as her sister's. But no sooner than the first syllable leaving her mouth, her voice faltered. Feigning a cough to buy some time, she realized that her voice was still under the effects of the masking herb. She shouldn't even be here in the first place, but she'd forgotten something. Her eyes searched out Taelynn, gesturing hurriedly for her handmaiden to answer the door.

Taelynn answered in impeccable Ameranth, even adding a slight tremor in her tone to sound sickly "Y-yes Nymeria? What is it?"

Nymeria went to open the door, but found it to be locked.

"Uh- sorry," she mumbled. "Are you sick?"

"Yes, sister" Ameranth motioned for Taelynn to continue as she herself turned towards one of the large floor to ceiling windows. She'd have to find another way out it seems.

"Oh, okay."

Nymeria twisted loose strands of her hair.

“Can you come closer to the door, at least?”

"That would not be wise... it might be contagious even through this door.." Ameranth glanced at Taelynn side-long, as if to say was that really necessary?. The handmaid merely shrugged.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Nymeria?"

Yeah, if you come close to the fucking door!

“Tul a neva,” Nymeria pushed one more time. “Ta’s y’olin. What was that saying…? Oh- the walls have ears.”
Come near (closer). It’s a secret.

Ameranth frowned, letting out a sigh as she gazed upwards to the ornately decorated ceiling. Did Nymeria get herself in some sort of trouble again? She nodded to Taelynn to approach the door as she moved in close herself.

"Quena." Taelynn replied in a lower tone, barely loud enough to be heard through the solid door.
Quena - Speak/Say it

“I’m going away for a bit,” Nymeria murmured through the door. “Felariel told me to.”

Blessed Lady of the Woods, forgive me.

“It won’t take too long. I think. I can get myself a horse, and I already have money. Felariel will keep me safe. I just… wanted to let you know, in case something happens. And uh… amin mela lle.”

Ameranth rubbed at her temples as if they throbbed with a pulsing headache. So much was happening in too little time. A part of her always felt guilty about not being there as much as she should for her younger sister. But too much was at stake. What she fought for now, was for the future of her people. That future included Nymeria. Now Nymeria was coming to her sounding all cryptic and ominous. Ameranth found herself unable to think clearly.

The Goddess told her to?

If she had come to her at another time, she might've laughed the younger Faenalla off. But as it were, Ameranth suddenly felt like she indeed wasn't feeling too well. Perhaps Nymeria had been chosen like her and graced with a vision too? Or maybe Nymeria was just deprived of attention? When she'd been much younger she had often said ridiculous things just to try to get Ameranth to pay more attention. Regardless... she was almost an adult now. She would have to learn to take care of herself. She whispered her reply to Taelynn who was giving her a funny look.

"Let Silvyr know, she can arrange for an escort. Don't head off anywhere on your own sister... it is not as safe anymore." Something felt off about this whole exchange, but as it were, Ameranth just wanted to all these enigmas she'd been plagued with to end.

"Sana malia Nymeria."
Sana malia - Take care

Nymeria stood at the door, a little dumbfounded at the notion that her sister actually believed her. Ameranth should’ve known that Felariel only ever gave her those stupid magic powers and maybe the occasional word or two. Why, Nymeria probably pulled the same stunt with Amaranth before! Still, Nymeria had no time or energy to really look into what older sister had in mind. Ameranth had opened a door for her. Nymeria could not let this opportunity pass her by.

“See ya,” Nymeria said, before walking away from the door.

She didn’t speak with Silvyr that night.

Now Nymeria travelled with a group of strangers she’d met just a half a day earlier, on a horse that she’d picked up from some random spot. She’d gone to Numenland once when she was younger, so returning north felt both strange and exciting. Nymeria thought she should’ve recognized certain areas, and she swore she did, but everything felt new and maybe vaguely nostalgic. They set up camp after some travelling.

Despite the small semblance of chill she tried to maintain while waiting around at the camp, Nymeria found that’d she’d already gotten a few birds and some rabbits to follow her. She took this as a sign that Felariel hadn’t decided it as time to smite her just yet.

After shooing the animals away, Nymeria look around to see the hooded figure of Em approaching.

“Hey Em!” Nymeria waved. “When are we gonna go?”

Lekiel shadowz1995
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[Lefic]

The whole journey, Sanine had not uttered a single unnecessary word. She did less, even; to anybody else, it would seem as though her only form of communication was through nods, head tosses, eyebrow raises, and grunts of dissent or affirmation. The assassin barely paid attention to her companions, sometimes being misinterpreted as blatantly ignoring them when she was simply engrossed in her own thoughts.

At their camp, Sanine had made herself comfortable away from the others, settling for perhaps the most unpleasant, muddiest, shadiest ground to dissuade anybody from joining her. The air around her was suffused with an earthen petrichor of rot and soil. Though the ground dampened her clothes, causing them to cleave to her body like frozen, groping fingers, she didn’t mind. The cold was good. She’d decided that a long time ago.

Her new horse was beside her, tethered to the tree that Sanine was leaning against. He was a relaxed creature, complementary to her generally stoic and absent manner. The gelding’s coat was the colour of sunlight through a glass of ale with legs fading into charcoal black. With a gentle hand, Sanine smoothed and stroked the horse along its neck, feeling the way its coat would rush and brush past her palm and fingertips as though it were stroking her back. Possible names floated through her mind, rising to the surface of her mind like gas bubbling through a swamp. Nothing fit, though. The horse had already been named by its previous owner, but Sanine had decided it was quite a rubbish name and sought to choose a better one. Who in their right minds would name anything ‘Ned’? After all, if she herself had had more names than she could count, why couldn’t a horse handle two? What names sound brave? she thought to herself, thinking so hard that her expression almost looked like one of pain, with her brow lined like a ploughed field and her upper lip pulled over her teeth. What name could fit with mine? Sanine and... come on, come on, words beginning with ‘S’... Saddle-wearer?... Gods that’s dreadful. The assassin shook her head almost violently. Rolling down dejectedly, her apple-green eyes stared at earth.

As though a whip had been cracked into her, Sanine’s body jolted as soon as an idea struck her mind. “Steed!” she decided, whispering to herself excitedly. “Sanine and the Steed. It almost sounds like a story.”

A breath slowly filtered out of her nostrils, collapsing her chest. Calm, she thought, allowing the feeling of numbness to spread through her brain again. Leaning back against the tree she was sat against, Sanine threw a sideways glance towards the others in their company. She hadn’t properly spoken to any of them yet. Perhaps it could continue on like that until Cal’Ancalen. The thief could only hope.

“Ever been to Cal’Ancalen, Steed?” she whispered. She let the silence hang in the air before resuming, “Thought not. Me neither... I’ve mostly been in Numenlad. An’Falithe is so different... I can’t imagine what Cal’Ancalen’s like... It could be like an adventure.” Lovingly, her hands glided over her steed. “I wonder when the danger will kick in. Nothing we can’t handle, huh?” The gelding tossed his head in response, eliciting a slight smile from the assassin who interpreted it as comprehension. “And all we have to do is make sure Em doesn’t... die.” She ended the sentence awkwardly, the last word spoken in an almost alarmed tone.

Unstringing her pouch, Sanine emptied out all her food for the day in front of her horse, encouraging him to eat by moving it closer to his mouth. Talking was now suddenly too great a task for the Edan, so instead she hoped that her horse could read her mind or at least understand the sentiment. I’m not hungry. Take it; you like apples don’t you?

Shadows surrounded her like a blanket and, curling up on the floor next to her steed, she snuggled up with them.

 

[boo.]

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ALRE QRASHNA
[div class=subtitle]You were only waiting for this moment to be free[/div][/div] [div class="content"][div class=scroll] Dawn came much too fast. Alre hadn't found it difficult to sleep, even with the curious strangers all around him. In fact, his rest had been successful at revitalizing him from the events of the previous day. His first glance at Em's poster had given him more than enough information and drive -- it was finally a chance to get out and do something. That wasn't to say that his life was uneventful; he had plenty to do when it came to work. He had his own workspace near the Temple of Anara, where he worked exclusively on bows and arrows for the Sunguarde. Alre had his own style, separate from his family business's, that set him apart; the fine detail in the arrowheads, along with their exceptionally strong make and accurate flight made him well-known among the Sunguarde ranks.

But everyone also knew that Alre wasn't a Sunguarde himself. There was a very specific detail about him that prevented it, something that was impossible to miss when looking at the bowmaker. There was an ugly, winding scar that ran vertically along the left side of his face; ripples of scar tissue deformed the skin, although the color was faded now to a point where it was almost all the same color as the rest of his face. Its presence was often forgotten by Alre, for he had lived with it for too long; that didn't mean Alre's life was the same for it. He though of it often in the wee hours of the morning, when he couldn't go back to sleep; he thought of it during the long mixing process of silver-steel; he mourned the loss of his left eye when he saw the glint of Sunguarde armor. The bowmaker was a natural optimist, but his self-pity sometimes got the best of him. It wasn't often when his spirits would sink below the earth. When they did, however, little could bring them up but time.

Today, however, Alre was too busy to even consider himself. There was work to be done, and it was not of the usual kind. In his normal line of work, Alre would have been up hours ago, beginning to heat the furnaces and preparing the potential bows he had gathered the afternoon prior. He would have been carving at this time in the morning; early hours, he found, were the best for his creativity. Each bow was unique in the way it flowed through its carvings. Each told a story, and sometimes they were personal to the eventual owner of the weapon. Every now and then, Alre would get a request that was something special; a tribute to some event or person. In that case, Alre would plan the bow for hours, pouring over details he had railed the requester for.

No, today was a day of new faces, new names, new stories. Of course, there was the actual job to be done; escort Em to Cal’Ancalen, safe and sound. Alre was fascinated by the prospect of a quest such as this, even if it didn't seem to be life-changing. This Em had to be pretty paranoid to hire so many; Alre gathered that there were a few under a dozen here. But he wasn't going to judge. Most, undoubtedly, were after the prize money. But the bowmaker had joined for something else. His job paid well enough, perhaps more than he deserved. This journey was dangerous, and that was the reason Alre had taken a leave from his steady life in An` Falithe. He was here to prove himself. To himself.

A few minutes was more than enough time to get Alre untangled from his blanket and travel-ready. His stallion stood patiently behind him, only swatting his tail as Alre rolled things up and strapped them to him, creating a firm little bundle just behind the saddle. The stallion didn't have a name; Alre had bought him that way last year and had never gotten around to calling him anything other than "the horse." The stallion didn't seem to mind, and Alre didn't find the situation of him not having a name particularly pressing. Their relationship was simply owner and equine; the stallion was obedient, although occasionally fiery for the most absurd reasons. Alre was fair but demanding. He knew that the horse had an idea of what it was supposed to do, so by the gods, it ought to do it.

Alre's stomach rumbled, protesting the elf's small supper the night previous. In compensation, Alre dug a biscuit from his pocket. It was half-squashed, but certainly edible. He polished it off with gusto, then turned his attention to the awakening party around him. Small camps, like fortresses, were being broken down slowly. Alre didn't exactly like how everyone had separated themselves, as if they were only bearing each other's company for the promise of future payment. The Anarhin had taken measures to gather up names; it was another thing if he could match them to faces. He decided that now was a good time to stretch his social appetite; Alre savored solitude, but also knew that time among friends was something beyond price.

Were these his friends?

Casting a glance around the other travelers, Alre's gaze rested on an Edan some distance from the center of the camp. She was alone; perhaps she wanted to be that way? Impetuous energy flooded the bowmaker's limbs, and some unseen force seemed to drag him in her direction. Oh, she wouldn't like this, he could tell. The Edan was relaxed as she tended to her steed, but Alre's gift of analyzing told him that it was because she was purposefully alone. She didn't like company; he should just turn back now. But Alre didn't stop. Some part of his subconscious wanted to find out how he could make himself bearable to her.

Sanine was her name, he was sure of it. It fit her, too. Not too short, because she had a story to tell. But not too long, because she dwelt on practicality. Alre noticed the faint scarring on her open skin, and decided that she led a much different life than he did. She did different things for a living -- did Alre even want to know what those things were?

"Praise Anara for another morning -- Pardon for my intrusion, but you've picked the best spot in camp, I think." Alre smiled widely, then sat plop on the soggy ground, ignoring the cold damp that began to seep through his clothes. "Look --"

He pointed to a shady patch of of shrubs near the tree Sanine lay by. "Those mushrooms. My mum used to teach me all about these kinds of things. They're really good to eat while travelling." [/div][/div][/div][/div] [div class=credit]云 / YUNN[/div]

Interacting with: Lefic ​

 

[Lefic]

Sanine had been tending to her Steed, brushing its lustrous coat when a disturbance in the environment pricked her senses. The sound of mud sucking on somebody's shoes funnelled straight into the assassin's ears, the squelch getting louder and wetter as they made their way closer to her territory. Though the blood surged through her body, awakening and amplifying every sense in her, the way she comported herself remained exactly same. Her face remained slackened in the same bored expression it always carried, her motions remained relaxed and controlled, and the assassin continued whispering to her animal as though no one were there. But in her head a million calculations were being made: she was analysing the sound of the tread, listening out for the clink of any weapons, picking up the sound of their breath and trying to discern their emotions through it. Male or a heavy female, she decided. Breathing's normal. Do they take me for an easy kill, or is that not their intention in the first place? Or perhaps they're used to killing. As the intruder took their last step towards Sanine, the assassin flicked out knives from beneath her sleeves, her head snapping to face them as she already ran through her mind the plan of how she'd vault over her horse and--

Oh. It was just the bow-maker.

Sanine gave a grunt of annoyance. "I see I should have set up camp in a swamp instead," she mumbled to herself, not even making eye contact. The assassin stood rooted to the ground like a tree in a way that first seemed cool, and then awkward, waiting for the Anarhin to leave. Opposing voices debated in her head. Why is he here? What does he want? The Edan followed Alre's gaze to the mushrooms. Oh. She thought she understood.

Well, she could at least try to make a companion.

With a hastened gait, Sanine strode over to the mushrooms. After kneeling down, she used her still-unsheathed knife to cut them out of the ground, collecting the mushrooms in her cloak. When they had all been severed, Sanine made her way back to Alre and unceremoniously dumped them in his lap. "Here," she offered gruffly. And then, trying to soften the bluntness of her words with actions, hesitantly picked up a mushroom that had rolled onto the ground and placed it back onto the elf. "You can take them and make whatever you want; no need to share with me." What do I do now? she thought. Maybe he'll leave after getting the mushrooms. She hoped he did. How was she to continue? Despite her recent nap, all this interaction made the assassin feel tired.


boo.

 

[boo.]

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ALRE QRASHNA
[div class=subtitle]You were only waiting for this moment to be free[/div][/div] [div class="content"][div class=scroll] Maybe it was because Alre wanted to see the best in Sanine, but he didn't see the silver glint of the knives at the assassin's hands as he approached. If he did see something, it didn't register as a threat; perhaps it was polished jewelry, or simply the sun playing tricks. But the bowmaker couldn't help himself. He saw the good in everyone, even if it was barely there. To some, that would be annoying. To others, pointless. But to Alre, it was simply how life was meant to be. Benefit of the doubt; that was how one played the game. Everyone had a good reason. Or at least, they thought they did.

Alre was delighted to see Sanine react positively to his greeting. At least, she didn't immediately vacate the premises.

"I see I should have set up camp in a swamp instead,"

The Anarhin frowned slightly at the Edan's biting remark, but said nothing as she cut the patch of mushrooms with her knife -- how long had she been holding that? -- and poured them out on Alre, who scooped them into a neat pile between his folded legs. Curious one. Was this an effort to befriend him, or just one to get him out of her hair? If Sanine expected the bowmaker to leave after he had collected his mushrooms, she was mistaken. Alre was determined to make a new companion today.

"You can take them and make whatever you want; no need to share with me."

Alre smiled widely, picking up one of the mushrooms and sniffing its delicate, earthy scent. "S'pose I'll gorge myself on stew tonight."He raised an eyebrow at the Edan, then began tucking the fungi into a satchel slung around his shoulder. Silence began to descend around the pair once more, only broken by the occasional snuffle of Sanine's stallion.

"Ever heard of silver-steel?" Alre picked up the conversation once more, choosing a topic that he decided Sanine would be interested in. "My family has an old recipe that forges the sharpest blades."

At that, the bowmaker unsheathed the curved dagger at his thigh, watching Sanine carefully to gauge her reaction. The blade of the dagger was incredibly smooth and decorated with swirls and flourishes that looked too fine to have been crafted by an earthly hand. It glimmered in the filtered sunlight and reflected a patch of white light on the wet grass. Alre held the dagger with both hands, then held it out for the assassin to inspect. [/div][/div][/div][/div] [div class=credit]云 / YUNN[/div]

Interacting with: Lefic ​

 

[Lekiel]

⊰~C H A P T E R 1 - Daughter of Kings~⊱​

All elvish translations can be found at the paragraph's end, unless intentionally vague
Theme: Bound by Purpose​

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Ameranth Faenalla

[div class=miniBox][div class="miniText mini1"] [div class=bar][div class=title]Personas[/div][div class=barText]Ameranth Faenalla[/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]PC Interactions[/div][div class=barText] doneanddusted shadowz1995 boo.
Lefic Hell0NHighWater [/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]OOC[/div][div class=barText]Ambush! [/div][/div] [div class=bar][div class=title]Location[/div][div class=barText]A full day's ride north of An`Falithe[/div][/div] [/div][/div] [div class=bigBox][div class=bigScroll] [div class="textbox big1"][div class=title]✤ ✤ ✤[/div]

Ameranth was mildly surprised to see that most, if not everyone was awake by the time she returned to the clearing amidst their campsite from her morning routine of stretching her limbs and scouting the lay of the land. There hadn't been a single hawk she could call upon this morn, which was odd, but not altogether uncommon.

Even in the murky gloom, she could make out Jayson grooming his modest steed. To an elf, the way edans seem to move often gave the impression of a blundering troll, unperceptive of their surroundings. But the healer in particular, blind as he were - or perhaps because of it - appeared to be uncommonly mindful. Even so, she wondered how he would fare the farther out they went, when even the lay of the land became unfamiliar to the seasoned ranger.

“Hey Em!” A sudden voice shook her concerns from her mind. “When are we gonna go?” It was the masked Misha. And speaking of masks... she wondered why the younger elf seemed intent on wearing one. Was she hiding too? Like herself?

"Quel re Misha... We'll be leaving as soon as everyone is ready." She greeted the other woman, mildly taken aback by her own distorted and unfamiliar voice. She must've taken a little too much Mockwood Root for its effects to last so long. Ameranth inwardly groaned at the prospect of a terribly sore throat, side effects courtesy of the voice changer. Quel re = Good morning

"You're a rather impatient one..." Ameranth tilted her head in amusement, studying the masked facade of the other. Misha's autumn-hued locks looked uncannily similar to hers. Could it be...?

"You remind me of someone..." The princess smiled, before realizing that her mouth was covered by the veil. Nodding to Misha, Ameranth took her leave, passing by Sanine and Alre Qrashna, the bowmaker. It was a peculiar coincidence indeed, having one of the younger Qrashnas in her presence. The bow she had stowed by her saddle was made by none other than his father.

"Quel re il'er, make ready. We leave for the forests soon." Ameranth bowed to them, making sure she spoke loud enough for Jayson to hear, but not so loud as to shout. They were still about a day's ride from An`Falithe's gates, it wouldn't do to draw unwanted attention. Quel re il'er = Good morning everyone

"We have a long ride ahead of us, so I was thinking if we could have a proper-" One of the horses whinnied, a short almost casual grunt of sound; but it was enough for the ranger enchanter. Ameranth held up her hand to signal for quiet (more out of habit than anything). Something wasn't right... the morning had become too quiet... too still.

"Israfael! Manke uma pu'sul?" She hissed into the trees, assuming the assassin would take a higher vantage point almost immediately. A moment later, the whispered answer drifted back. North... Something was up ahead. Whatever it was, they had to head right towards it, or waste precious time going around. Amaranth nodded to her companions and they swiftly packed their things and mounted up. Israfael! Manke uma pu'sul? = Israfael! Where does the land tremble?

~✤~​

The dirt road wound and twisted through the evergreen forests, their large boughs shrouded with morning mists muffling all sound but the steady clop of their horses. Shadows lurked on either side of the woods, and in the dim light of the cold dawn, the muted contrast of their environment restricted her vision to no more than two score yards. Ameranth silently thanked the Goddess that they had at least a pair of isilhin eyes keeping watch for their small company. There was a light breeze coming down from the north, barely strong enough to tickle the ranger's skin, but it brought with it a very worrying stench.

The mists grew thicker until finally, the ranger called her company to a halt. The unsettling smell had grown stronger by now, and there was no doubt that whatever it was, they were almost upon it. Ameranth leaned down to whisper to her horse, and dismounted, leading it to the side of the road where it stood obediently. She signaled to the others to do the same. The ranger unsheathed her longsword, and headed into the heavily misted woods. There was a brief moment of trepidation, as the murky fog filled her vision and wrapped her with its chilling moistness like a glove. Her knuckles were white, from gripping Anorlindir's handle, by the time she saw the mist thinning up ahead. Then her vision cleared, and her hazel eyes grew wide as she was greeted to total carnage. The stench of death and smoke was so powerful it hit her in waves of nausea; had she not seen such things before Ameranth would surely have doubled over.

But such things usually happened on the frontlines... rarely so close to home. It was of such utter devastation that it took the ranger a moment to identify each individual corpse. The bodies of dead soldiers lay everywhere, both men and elf. Many were ravaged beyond recognition, their armor stained with oxidized blood such that the colours and pennants they bore were no longer recognizable. Horses and other pack beasts littered all over the clearing, bellies hacked open with their guts spilled over the battlefield. And amidst everything... the bodies of orcs, goblins and unnamed horrors.

"Wretched!" Ameranth hissed a warning over her shoulder at her companions the same time Anorlindir's keen blade began to gleam a warm amber. Foul evil was close. . . She crept lower into the brush and edged forwards. Then her boot nudged against something heavy and she halted. Eyes watching in all directions, Amaranth slowly ducked through a mass of ferns and came face to face with a dead soldier. An edan. His face had been almost split in two by some heavy bladed object, but Ameranth was more interested in his garb. The skyblue cloak and spell tome by his side gave it away. A Bluecloak mage. An entourage from Cal`Ancalen perhaps? Why were they out here so far from home?

The princess was unsure of what to do. From her brief survey of the battlefield, the dead among the Tel`Quessir perhaps numbered in the twenties. For a group of that size to be massacred, the Wretched would have to number at least twice that. Were they any larger in size, they would've surely been picked up by patrols.

By the Goddess... how could they have come so far..? Tempting as it was, she knew they couldn't just leave. They had to do something. No doubt the forces of Chaos had suffered heavy losses, but there were still some alive in the vicinity. They had to be hunted down or else... Amaranth shuddered to think how many smaller villages and farmlands lay exposed. The only problem was... how many were left alive? The ranger took a tentative step forward, then suddenly she heard a strange clicking noise. The hairs on the nape of her neck stiffened as some primal instinct within recognized the sound of danger. But what danger..? Then it dawned on her. She turned back to her companions, a desperate warning shout on her lips.

"Ngwaw!!!" A second later, a shroud of darkness billowed out from the undergrowth scant feet behind the princess. Time seemed to hold still as the ranger turned back just in time to see the shroud leaping into the air, a dark twisted obsidian shape coalescing as it pounced on the elf. A mind-numbing shriek blasted through its salivating mandibles as its two elongated front limbs stretched forward, long poisoned dagger hands stabbing towards her heart. Amaranth gritted her teeth on instinct and screamed back at the demon in an effort to prevent its mindblast from stunning her. Anorlindir flashed in the morning gloom once, then the demon crashed against her and both fell tumbling towards the ground.
"Ngwaw!!!" - Shrieker/Mage Bane. See Creature compendium lorebook for more info!

The group is beset upon by not just ordinary orcs, but fel nightmares of Chaos! All non-rogues will be taken by surprise and must fight at a disadvantage for the start of their combat sequence. The manner of beast(s) that attacks you is up to the individual!

⊰~✤~⊱​

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[Hell0NHighWater]

xxxx

Location: A full day's ride north of An`Falithe

Interactions: The whole group that's a lot of tags

OOC: Just sort of slapped this together, sorry for the wait.

ISRAFAEL

There was an irritated wisp of air that left his lips. Leather was good for many things, but the padding was ill equip to handle the rough textures of the bark against his back. It was as if he could feel every groove, every bump, and the plant itself mocked him for thinking it would grant him rest. Which was a joke in of itself, the assassin never really rested. Not that he didn't wish to, but years of conditioning had deftly removed any ability of a good night's rest. Even in a tree, at least a hundred meters from the ground, sleep would not come. So the Isilhin did what he did best. Watched. Listened. Waited for trouble to find them.

“Ever been to Cal’Ancalen, Steed?”

Soft spoken words carried across an even softer gust of wind. Emerald orbs drifted towards the edge of their camp, to the female assassin and her horse. A brow quirked, amusement glittered in the depths of his gaze, a slight snort left his nose as he readjusted himself on the branch. Rafe didn't make a habit of speaking with his horse. Personally didn't see the appeal, especially when Reiner was half as likely to buck him off as he was to lead him to his destination. The foul tempered stallion had a mind of his own. Most might have gotten rid of such an unruly beast long ago, but Israfael kept him. Reiner had been abused by his previous owners, forced to race, beaten when he fought back, and though animals didn't seem to necessarily like the Isilhin he found himself unable to turn his back on the horse. As fate had it, the owner happened to have been a mark and once that mark was completed Rafe took the onyx stallion with him. It was a struggle at first, but after a while Reiner seemed to begrudgingly accept the assassin. Perhaps it was because the horse knew that the two were alike in more ways than one.

A large shadow took shape on his right side, drawing his gaze to a branch not too far from where he sat. A pair of onyx and gold rimmed orbs stared back at him. "Salazzar."
The owl tilted it's head swiftly, eyeing the elf as if regarding another predator or a possible friend. Rafe wasn't really sure if the bird had figured it out yet. He extended his hand slowly, palm outstretched towards the avian in a gesture that meant it no harm. There was a moment where the both stared at each other, only the voices from the camp below and the wind filling the silence. The owl ruffled his feathers before leaning its head into the touch.

Animals hated him, but broken things....broken things called to one another.

His fingers drew across white feathers, taking the time to pet the bird of prey as if it were a common house pet, "An lema?"
The owl preened, closing its eyes temporarily as Rafe's fingers ghosted across the feathers on its head.
"Garas." It was a quiet command, one that he had been working on with the avian for quite a while. Pulling his hand away, he watched the owl expectantly. There was a tug to the corner of his mouth as the bird moved from its branch and to the crook of the assassin's arm fluttering it's wings briefly in an attempt to regain balance. A bit of boyish joy crossed Israfael's face, a chuckle tumbling out of him. Salazzar turned it's head to watch him, "Ghilana."

Almost as soon as he uttered the word, the owl took off. Rafe watched him circle around the tree for a moment, lost in thought before another voice called his attention.

"Israfael! Manke uma pu'sul?"

His nose crinkled for a moment, emerald orbs darting towards the figures below. He pulled himself up on the branch, gaze sweeping the area around them for a moment. It didn't take him long to pin point what it was she had been talking about. If he hadn't been so swept up in Salazzar he might have noticed the eeriness that had settled over the forest. "North.". It was a simple word, a simple response, but it seemed to hold more wariness than it should have. He was down from the tree faster than it had taken him to climb up, already moving towards Reiner. Something cold crawled up his spine, a bad feeling that only seemed to be growing by the second.

⊰~~⊱​

This forest was a creaking shack created by nature to serve as a reminder that things could always be much, much worse. The unnatural, choking mist that swirled and sprawled on the forest floor was the first thing that spoke of a strange sort of wrongness. The sickly white substance seemed to possess liquid properties reminiscent of the maggot-like texture of the eyes of a dead man who had been forgotten in a ditch for a few months, ready to burst at the slightest touch. The smoke made no sound however and only parted to swallow up the feet of their horses as they marched upon the giant dead, festering eyeball of the forest floor. The sound of mushy and dead leaves whispered from under the skin of the mist. It was all very unnerving and probably best avoided. The assassin would have preferred to avoid it at least, but it would have derailed their journey too much.

Israfael's nose scrunched at the stench that lingered in the air. As soon as the group stopped, he dismounted planning to look ahead. He had turned to tell Amaranth to wait, but she was already heading off into the mists, sword drawn, and ready to charge head first into danger. Rafe made a noise of irritation, automatically moving off after her. His lips parted to chastise her when the fog parted to reveal the source of what had made this whole area of the forest stink. His left hand fell to the blade on his hip, scanning the area with an impressive lack of emotion. He turned away from her, catching movement out of the corner of his eye. The shadows around them were moving in ways that they shouldn't. A feeling of dread clenched his gut, sweat clammy to his skin, and mouth suddenly far too dry, "We need to-"

He was cut off by her warning and was a second too slow in his reaction.

What was a Ngwaw doing here!? There were no chaos gates...at least none that he knew of. It's mandibles flared out as it pounced on Amaranth, the creature desperately trying to sink it's teeth into her. His mind went numb. Feet, limbs, arms, all moving on autopilot as he launched himself at the beast. The dagger met flesh, soft and pudgy, and made a satisfying squish as the tip of the blade sank deep enough to make the Ngwaw screech. He twisted the blade in his hands, all the while sinking it deeper and deeper. Its leathery skin was tearing to shreds as the daggers rotated, the sound of muscles and nerves being gouged mingled with the echo of its screams. Then, without warning, he jerked the blades into the side of the beast's neck, until the shiny metal had disappeared inside and the black handle was pushing against broken skin. Its cry was a brilliant sound, guttural chokes mixed with an agonized roar. His teeth clenched together in an attempt to keep himself from being stunned. He used his body weight to throw it off Amaranth, watching as it continued to scream, convulsing and trembling like a rabid animal and thick blood flowing freely from the gaping hole in its neck. The cascade of the monster's life source gushed out in all directions, scarlet liquid squirting up and across his armor. The sweet tang of blood tingling in his nostrils. Adrenaline pulsated through his veins, dark emerald orbs tracking the path from the Ngwaw's lifeless corpse to the woman on the ground.

Israfael's breaths came out in short ragged pants, his muscles trembling despite his attempts to calm himself. He moved slow, boots squishing against the damp ground as he forced his own blood lust away. One of the daggers slid back into its sheath, a free hand lifting to swipe at the blood splatter that coated his jaw.

He extended a hand to her, "Are you alright?"

He didn't have time to properly listen to her answer, there was movement again from the shadows. Rafe pulled her to her feet and then put her behind him, pulling his second specialized dagger from it's sheath. "There's more."

From the swirling mists came the sound of limbs being dragged across the forest floor. Whatever it was, it seemed to be moving rather fast. Either it was dragging its feet or a tail through the undergrowth...or dragging the limbs away from the bodies of the deceased. Every once in a while a cracking noise like bone on wood, or at least that is what Rafe imagined it to be - a thick skull crashing into a trunk. This beast was neither lithe, graceful, or blessed with night vision. Then the noise would stop only to be echoed in another area close by, following by another cycle of the same thing. He didn't like what he was hearing and he really didn't like the fact that he wasn't seeing anything to correspond with it.

He began to push Amaranth further behind him, his words directed more towards the entire group than her, "Get back to the horses."

The noises stopped.

Silence.

Then the sound of feet running full speed in their direction.

"Go!" He snapped, turning just in time to see three figures bolt right at him.

Tigbanua.

They moved as if their limbs were jello, a trio of chirping demons that luckily couldn't see him. But they could hear and smell him enough to make up for it. Rafe charged the front one, missing getting bit by a couple centimeters as he plunged his dagger into it's leg. It howled in pain and the other two echoed it, springing towards him at the same time. He rolled out of the way of one attack only to get caught by another, a burning sensation pulsed in his right shoulder but he ignored the pain. They yipped and snapped their jaws, rotating in a circle around him as if scanning for any weaknesses.

He snarled, hood flying off his head as he managed to dodge yet another attack, "Naa tanya ilya lle've garem?"
Israfael twisted away from another limb being swiped at him, a horse chuckle leaving him as he danced around each attack. His daggers gleamed in the low light, still slick with blood as they batted away blows.

"Amin mamaela uma beaya th'sina!"

The more he baited it, the more its attention focused solely on him. Which was good as long as he could continue to dodge the demon until an opportunity presented itself. It wasn't like him to fight so selflessly, but if it meant Amaranth had a better chance at surviving then he would gladly sacrifice his own safety for hers.

⊰~Translation~⊱​

An lema? -Long Journey?
Garas -A command for Salazzar in old elvish, means come.
Ghilana -A command for Salazzar in old elvish, means follow.
Naa tanya ilya lle've garem-Is that all you've got?
Amin mamaela uma beaya th'sina! - My grandmother can do better than this!