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Fantasy Terryal: The First Age of Man

Yurt found himself trailing behind the group.


After the bloody skirmish, Airrow had decided to take in the strangers into their group. They were already large to begin with, a few more people wouldn't make any difference. The journey would undoubtedly be longer though, more people meant that crossing rugged and inhospitable terrain would be difficult. Yurt didn't resent the company though, but he had yet to talk to any one of them.


No, something else was boring into his mind. A voice, one that sounded and felt oddly familiar.


Welcome back, my child. I has been quite some time since you have left the fold...





Then the road seemed to blur a little bit, flanking the path they took were piles of bodies yet no one seemed to notice them. If they weren't noticed then it wasn't necessary to bring it up just yet. He cleared the bodies and saw an image straight in the middle of the path. A man had lodged an axe blade in another man's skull while his other hand held a sword which ran through another man behind him. As he went closer to the image which everyone just seemed to pass through he couldn't mistake the fact that the warrior was him in the days before he had turned into this ghost of his former self. A scar ran across the warrior's bare chest and his face wore a sickening grin, one that showed his delight in what he did.


How refreshing it must feel to wield a blade and let it rend your opponents. Taking a life once more after such a long period of abstinence.


Further down the road was another image of him. He had the same delighted grin as he was when he was young, except an arm was missing and he wore a robe over a tunic and pants and boots. The sunlight seemed to bounce off the blade of his sword and glittered in the blood of the being in which the blade found itself nestling in.


That is a part of your true nature, child. You are a killer, you simply find pleasure in taking lives. This long abstinence has dulled your edge but it sharpens quickly as soon as blood touches it. It is..magnificent.


The voice trailed off at the last word. The world blended back to reality and he found himself trailing behind the group.


_______________________________


The group had set up camp as per Airrow's command. He had not told anyone of what he had just seen or heard, opting to stand by his "silent" moniker. What kind of image would they have of him if they knew one of their own number heard voices in their head and saw things. It simply wasn't logical and it could be attributed to a wide variety of factors.


The newcomers had begun introducing themselves when the Fox person began screaming to the gods that their companion had fallen into the river or some such nonsense. He had half a mind to go in but realized he was not a whole man, he'd be a burden and it seemed Ruger had taken the initiative to go save the woman. All these able bodied people couldn't react so quickly to such an event. Yurt wondered quietly just how far they'd get in the north with the threat of marauders and such blanketing the night that blankets them. Fox may have formulated a simple plan earlier yet the fact that he instead screamed to the group about Faye falling into the water instead of diving in after her spoke volumes about his cowardly character or lack of a manhood. Whichever suited the man more.


Ruger had returned empty handed and Airrow assaulted Fox or threatened him. It made no difference, the troubles of other people were far beyond his reach for now. After all what could a man with one arm do? Airrow did order everyone to stay in camp, however it was likely that some of them would disobey that order and go out hunting for the woman as well. Yurt knew deep down that he would if he was whole.
 
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Fox never answered her question, and Airrow stepping in and grabbing the man by the scruff of his shirt spoiled any information she might have gleaned from Fox’s reaction. Not that she didn’t understand Airrow’s response, but the intensity of it startled her. She watched him leave on his horse, feeling a twinge of guilt that he held out hope for Faelynn while she had assumed the woman dead based on Ruger’s failed attempt to retrieve her from the water.


They had all lost so much with the destruction of Zephyr. It only made sense that they would rail against another loss so soon. Especially one as senseless as Faelynn falling into the river. And no sooner had Airrow left than the newcomer - the one with the wicked axe - stepped in to talk to Fox, apparently consoling him. The action surprised her, but she reminded herself that a man’s behavior on the battlefield doesn’t necessarily correlate to his personality in everyday interactions.


Az stalked off in the direction Airrow went, defying the man’s order to stay at camp. Then again, the newcomer hadn’t sworn allegiance to their leader - at least not yet. Aesriel glanced at Ruger and Yurt, then back to Fox. Everyone else was concerned for his new wife, and all he did was wail and avoid the others’ gazes. Well, she had every intention of keeping an eye on him.


Everyone seemed to be doing the same. Tensions were running high, and there was little she could do before Airrow returned. So she nodded to the others remaining near the camp. Aesriel had heard the new woman introducing herself: Nadia. And although the axe-wielder had his back to her when he offered it in turn, she had caught the first part… Azra something-or-other. The other mage had remained silent as far as she knew. She looked at the other woman and offered a smile. “So… you’re from Yrgen?” She couldn’t help but wonder if the woman held the strict views on magic common in that area. She certainly had taken the winged monsters in stride. But the woman had also declared herself a mercenary and a healer, and people are subjected to all manner of things in those fields of work.


Realizing her thoughts were running a little wild, she shook her head with a soft chuckle. “Forgive my manners. I’m Aesriel. Aesri. I hope you weren’t headed to Zephyr.” Anyone with eyes could see the smoke still rising from the city during the day. And the woman had joined them on their trip North, so perhaps she hadn’t even known anyone in Zephyr to begin with. That would probably be for the best, so why had she even mentioned it? “I mean… Are you headed north?” She didn’t say it explicitly, but she wondered if, being a diuris, Nadia might want to visit the tribe lands to the north. But asking that directly would be crass. So she left it vague instead. It was only polite.
 

Azrathoth.


His name was Azrathoth.


Or so he says, as Lorelai's gaze drifted away from his face to the leader of the group, her lips in a pleasant smile. She was unsure if he believed her lie but she truly didn't care too much, she wouldn't stay long. In fact, the discomfort of having her father's soul dig into the left side of her bosom underneath the corset was enough to make her wonder why she sticked around in the first place. The crunch of a leaf was the only indication that she shifted positions, watching as a pair of the group left camp, giving her heart a painful squeeze in the process but they didn't keep her distracted enough for her to miss the soft rejection to her offer.


"Ah, I see. Then I'll go take a walk for a minute or t-" A scream was heard from her left, interrupting her mid-sentence and whatever occurred afterwards was a confusing blur for the lady. Seemed like the lady of the pair had fallen off the cliff, making a glint of joy enter Lorelai's eyes. One dead, nine to go. She was glad that her hood hid most of her face, her lips turning into a grim line as she watched the scene on the side line.


She found it peculiar that the lady could have fallen off so easily, and to boost, she felt slight sorrow enter her heart at the sight of this Fox. He did not even try to rescue her, and they were supposed to be 'in love'. A small snort escaped her lips at the thought, love did not exist in her eyes. No, only blood did and it pumped into her veins a rage that could not be tamed easily. The discomfort of having her father's soul dig into her chest fading away to a small reminder, a reminder that she had to hurry up and head north as fast as she could.


---------------


It was during these very thoughts that Dante, frightened and alert from the earlier attack, came rushing to his master side to receive some sort of reassurance. Her fingers tracing his mane absentmindedly when the one person she was most concerned about decided to approach her. The lady, a beautiful blonde, certainly showed her abilities in the field. Magic, prvok magic thankfully and also the reason why she picked Yrgen as her new 'home'. Moving her left hand to grasp her right arm, Lorelai played off being nervous and uncomfortable as she conversed with the beauty.


"Not quite, I lived in a small village near the border of the city..." Nod, lie, stare at the fire. A routine she was far too familiar with. "I was headed to Zephyr, my client has... had a shop there. I asked around and it seems he is headed to Byzantium with his family. Not much I can do but try to keep up with him."





Or maybe he is dead and his wife had returned to her maternal grandfather in Ur... And just maybe Lorelai was heading to Byzantium due to the fact that Eric was sighted there and she had gotten a better offer for work there then her current client.


"You're a... What do they call 'em... Sage?" Shifting her head to the lady, Lorelai gave a small smile before turning back to Fox. "Airrow and this missing lady... Were they close? He seemed awfully upset over this lass..."




​
 
Ramya walked toward a tree and paused. The hood of her cape hung down, and her nose twitched under the scents carried by the wind. She wiped the ash off her cape, the ash from the Zephyr. The city had burned to a crisp, and with it, her last client. She pulled a dingy cloth, stained with soot and grease. She threw it into the deep grass, no longer needing its scent. Her tail swayed under her coat. Reaching her hand into her other pocket, she pulled out a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, she read the name of her next client who was in the city of Yrgen. They had arranged a meeting in one of the local taverns, a place she frequented whether she had a job or not.


Refolding the paper and putting it back into her pocket, she wandered further across the plain when she caught the scent of humes. She hunched into the grass, keeping close to what trees she could, narrowing her eyes to try to see past her limited sight. In the distance, there was a yellow blur, something she associated with fire. She walked around a wide range form the fire before smelling the scent of a bestia. She froze, climbing into a tree before coming closer to the smell. Her tail swung about, helping her keep balance as she went from tree to tree. She needed to know the exact location of the people before she could avoid them.


She noticed the movement before she saw the beastman. She watched from her high perch as his blurry form wandered deeper into the woods, seeming to track something. Waiting for him to pass far enough for his scent to almost disappear, Ramya jumped down from the tree. She walked over to where she saw the bestia, grabbing the bit of dirt that he laid on and bringing it up to her nose. She sniffed it, taking in the scents that he had carried with him. Humes, many humes, diuris, and him.


Dropping the dirt back, she raised up on her heels, smelling another being close before she saw him. She slunk back into the taller grass, slipping behind a tree before climbing and hiding in its branches. She watched as another blurred form came close, walking with intent as he crashed through the woods. Glancing up, she noticed that he came from the fire area. Her nose twitched again as she took in the smells that flowed her way.


They must have a camp, and it seemed that some had left for a reason or another. It would be tricky to avoid them, she decided. She would just have to wait for the rest of their group to return, and then with hopes that they stayed near camp, she could move around them. It would delay her travels a bit, but better a delay than having to explain why she was there in the first place.
 
Our study in darkness means to make an area devoid of light, not to bring about actual darkness. Now do you see now, that darkness is part of light? As a matter of fact, this school of magic is one of the very few that can bring no actual harm to the user or the recipient, for it simply casts a shadow. Those of you who are led to believe that dark prvok magic is as your fiction texts say as they are may shut this book now and never open it again, for the basest form of magic needs no brutes to handle.


Iscariot stopped atop the hill that overlooked the valley below it, shutting her book with one hand. The last rays of sunlight gleamed across the spine of the book, where the words "A Study in Darkness and Man" were embossed in gold cursive. Below it, a simple appellation "L. F. Tailwood". The blood-red sunset bathed the sky in crimson, trailing long shadows on the ground. Zephyr was ahead, just a couple hundred more steps. She had dutifully counted her steps from Faernyae, after having developed what could be described as 'boredom' before she lost count at seven thousand, six hundred and forty-three (was it two or four?), whereby she released her father's penmanship from her satchel and began reading. Now that the sun had set, Iscariot slipped the book back into her brown satchel, scanning ahead for her destination.


The sun was dipping by now, and Iscariot could see Zephyr at the horizon. Most cities bore the feeling of energy, life, souls brimming, and Zephyr should, given the last time she visited was with a Sage named Briantheos Kingsley, who had come to purchase some books, as well as ogle the ladies at the tavern. It was still a city that thrived with life then. Now, all she could feel was a fragment, no, a shadow? Less than that. It seemed to resemble the faint mewling of a dying kitten as compared to the roaring giant that it had been. She quickened her pace, drawing her robes around her.


She had barely reached the bulwark that once defended Zephyr before the massive sound of rustling feathers reached her ears. Her attention diverted, gone towards a sphere of shadows dotting the remnants of the blood sky as light sunk into the horizon. As she continued to spectate, the ball morphed, twisting into a winged creature. Fascinating. Her eyes glinted with interest and her heart stirred as she watched the magnificent transformation. At once losing all focus on the destruction of Zephyr, she made her way towards the creature's position. Too late, it seemed, as it took flight and soared into the sky, gone with the dark that soon sank in, leaving a trail of feathers.


Iscariot lifted her staff and followed the trail to its origin, starting her slow walk again, as she mused over the creature's appearance. Subconsciously, she picked open her satchel and relinquished from it, a notebook that chronicled her travels. Trapping her staff under her arm and armed with a piece of charcoal, she began to scribble something onto the pages as she walked, ignoring the creeping darkness. She had only just finished shading in the details of the creature when she came to an encampment. Possibly the same ones that did battle with the creature earlier. Fascinating. This group could surely supply her more knowledge of the world than simple Sages and Mancers could.


She hadn't noticed a figure creeping around the camp, setting her mind to approach who would seem to be the leader of the motley crew of what could only be mercenaries. It didn't take long. The camp was in deep unrest. She could taste it on her tongue.


"Stay at the camp, all of you." A silver haired man ordered, mounting his steed and making his way towards the dark. "I will return before shortly, we stay to our schedule, at the first sign of sunlight we depart."


If he wasn't the leader, Iscariot needed to judge better. She skirted around the camp, making a steady beeline towards the silver-haired knight. As she followed, the sound of running water became apparent. What had the crew lost that he needed to search the dark waters for? A person? An object? She increased her pace, until she was almost near him. She raised one hand, covered in a fingerless black gloves that ran to her elbow and summoned a spark, igniting the air above it. It illuminated part of her features and the surroundings.


"Darkness ill befits travelling alone." She said, her voice just slightly louder than the rushing water. "A careless slip and to the depths you will follow, horse and all. What ails thou that thou seeketh peril and death in this lack of light?"


I do hope this is sufficient to please. I have hardly any experience. It did take me lots of looking in the dictionary and grammar check to get this through. Sorry if it seem weird at some points.
 
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Kalhalar sat down, rummaging through his basket, when he heard a man scream. He turned his head, just in time to see a man, Fox, run in and fall on his knees before screaming hysterics. It seemed that the woman, Faelynn, had fallen into the river. He returned back to his previous activity, the back of his mind registering the events that began to happen around him. Ruger had almost immediately run off; he pulled out a potato and a kale. Aesriel had stepped up to offer some words before Airrow ran off, instructing Kalhalar to tend to the fire and watch the camp. He pulled out a carrot and another potato. Before long, Airrow came back to… tell everyone to stay put. Kalhalar went to grab some water and a pot to pour the water into as Raz and the man who had introduced himself as Azrathoth Orindr walk off, disobeying Airrow’s orders. Not that they were really compelled to; Azrathoth was only with the group due to the previous skirmish, and Raz had volunteered to help. No one had officially acknowledged Airrow as a leader, as far as he could remember.


Reaching back into his basket, Kalhalar pulled out the knife that Raz had given to him back in Zephyr as well as two onions. Holding the onions against the basket, he began chopping them up before putting them into the water. He quickly did the same with the rest of the vegetables. With one hand, he held the pot over the fire; with the other hand, he once again rummaged through his basket. He soon pulled out a few herbs and added those to the pot as well. Making a stirring motion with his hand, the ingredients in the pot began to stir as well.


“Uh- ummm…” Kalhalar racked his brain, trying to think of the man’s name, “Uhhh… Ah! Yurt! Can you bring me eight bottles of the wine?” He stopped, a part of him saying that Yurt wouldn’t be able to do that alone. Maybe no one would be able to do that alone. Wait, Yurt has one arm, he realized as he stared at the area that Yurt’s other arm should have occupied. He turned to the other northerner, figuring he would be the one most likely to help out. “Ahh, Ruger, help Yurt--“ he stopped himself, as if realizing something before continuing, “Ruger, Kalhalar is wanting you to help Yurt in the getting of the wine.” He felt that it would be better to talk to people in the way that those people themselves spoke.
 
And just like that, Yurt had finally been entrusted to do something. Unfortunately it was a task filled with tedium, he'd have to make several trips to and from the supplies and that strange robed man or woman? It was hard to discern at night and low light. He didn't dare ask for he may just offend him or her. In fact, Yurt never remembered if he ever heard the individual's name. Still if that person knew his name then they were probably introduced at one point or another. Again he did not think to ask the name, names are fleeting after all and it'd be strange to ask the name of a companion who he has been travelling for quite some time now. It was safe to assume Yurt didn't properly know everyone in the group and simply assigning Northern general purpose nicknames to them. Much like how southerners would refer to their comrades as friend or their servants as dog or cat.


"As you wish...." His voice did not trail off, he just didn't know Kalhalar's name.


As soon as the order was given, Yurt was already on his way to the supply cache for the wine. It stood to reason that Airrow or one of the richer members had brought along their wine cellar with them if the strange robed man woman would ask for eight bottles. He began drafting up plans in his head on how he'd go about ferrying the wine. It would be impossible to say the least when he had finally arrived at the supply cache and found out just how large these bottles of wine where. He could smell the wine and could easily tell that they had been aged, aged to perfection then again Yurt was never an expert on such matters. A memory returned, not a few days past, yes, one pint of the Drunken Breeze's swill in Zephyr incapacitated him.
 
The other woman kept her white hood up. It wasn’t that unusual, but it did strike Aesriel as odd behavior. Was she hiding something? More likely the woman was simply nervous. Her body language seemed to say as much, and who could blame her? If Aesriel had been attacked by those flying monstrosities, she would be a little nervous as well. She nodded when Nadia mentioned a client in Zephyr. Although she didn’t know everyone (Zephyr was - or had been - a large city), she almost asked for the name of Nadia’s client. Perhaps she had known him. Or her father had.


The thought of her father inspired a twinge of grief just long enough to allow Nadia to change the subject. She nodded and cleared her throat before answering the first question. “Yes. I am a Sage, at least in title, although not currently with a school.” That clarification probably didn’t matter to Nadia, but it was habit for Aesriel. It preemptively answered the question that always seemed to follow the declaration of her title: Where do you teach? She preferred to avoid the details of her history. Granted, Zephyr’s latest calamity made the events Ashland seem minor in comparison, but in her experience, prvok users held onto their prejudices.


Luckily, Nadia didn’t seem to care. Instead, she gracefully changed the topic to the unfortunate fate of Faelynn. Aesriel turned to follow Nadia’s gaze, her polite smile fading as she looked at Fox. Aesriel shook her head. “I don’t know. He seemed to know her…” And why did that bother Aesriel, anyway? Airrow had seemed awfully eager to find Fae, and he had been so casually close with the scantily clad woman in Zephyr. (Not that it was Fae’s fault her dress was ripped, but it had been exceptionally revealing.) “But I do not know him well myself. We all joined his cause against the monster that attacked Zephyr only a few days ago.” She motioned toward Yurt, who was heading for the stored wine. “Yurt is the only one I knew before the attack on Zephyr - and then he and I only joined forces for the Hunt.”


How long ago had that been? It seemed like ages, but it was less than a week ago that she had struck up a conversation with the slightly inebriated one-armed man about the Hunt and ended up fighting by his side. Now they were on a different sort of hunt, and Faelynn had apparently met a horrible fate. There was still hope, but it was slim. Aesriel looked back to Nadia with a warmer smile, stopping herself when she realized she was dipping her head in an effort to see the woman better beneath her cowl. “We are headed North by way of Byzantium. I hope you’ll stay with us. There is safety in numbers.”


She glanced briefly back at Fox, wondering if that were really true. And now that Nadia had planted the seed, she began to truly wonder about the history between Fae and Airrow. Not that it was any of her business, of course.
 
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Well who knew the prostitute would be so freaking cared about. Fox did his best to hide his irritation at the sight of the knight, Airrow and the beast-man leaving to find his beloved. It was a waste of time, her cold, lifeless body should have been long gone by now, carried off by the hungry rapids and somewhere over a waterfall or whatever. Fox sighed and stood up, he kept up the worried and grieving facade but all the while, he shifted his gaze across the camp to see who all was wary of him. He saw the Sage look at him a few times.


Dammit.


Okay, so that makes it a little more difficult for him to disappear, great. He turned his back on her and spotted the faces of a few others who turned and gave a passing glance at him but no more. Suddenly he was filled with a surge of rage. He knew this was a bad idea, he knew he should have just taken Fae alone and traveled with just the two of them but no, he had to be lazy, he had to chase after the offer to mooch of everyone else's work until arriving, and look where he is no-, a presence behind him suddenly made him freeze and he was immediately ejected from his self-loathing thoughts and into the words of an old man behind his ear.


"I see the Darkness inside you..."


Fox's breath caught in his throat and he quickly hid the sudden look of panic that had to have caught his golden eyes. He swallowed hard and looked over his shoulder once the man was finished talking, and caught his image from behind. He was already turned away and back in the shadows, sitting and... waiting.


No, no. Shit, no. Fox sucked in a lung full of air and let it escape. I suppose to others around him, it would look as if he was still panicking and in shock over Faelynn's death but it was deeper. There was something in the man's words- this- this old man, someone Fox would have never feared- in fact, would have gladly put in his place with the whip of his dagger but now... now there was just something sinister in his cold gaze and whisper that told the wild, care free and tempered Fox that he had no idea what he was capable of. What was he doing here? What was anyone doing here with, him..? No, he had to leave. He couldn't stay here with everyone watching, suspecting and now, waiting to take him out, take him down and show him all his sins and have him choke on all the things he's don-


No wait. wait, what was he doing? He was being paranoid. He needed to calm down. He just needed to calm his nerves then he could think clearly. This wasn't Fox, this wasn't the handsome devil he's grown to know and love more than any other being in his lifetime. He cleared his throat and wiped the sweat from his face. In a few quick strides he made it to the horse he and Fae were riding on earlier and quickly took a bottle of wine from his sack. He popped the cork and threw it somewhere into the dark of the woods before taking a few large gulps of the bitter drink. Better, this was better. He was fine, everything was going to be fine. He steadied his breathing and turned back to face the others. He stood there still and quiet, silently planning his escape. He would take nothing but a very small bag and be gone soon, never to be seen or heard from again.


They were gone, everyone was gone. It was just her silly imagination. Faelynn took in a long chattering breath, when did it get so cold down here? Why was she so wet again? Oh yeah, she fell from all the way up there, almost fell into the river and have been laying here in a pool of her own self pity ever since. It's been a great day. She exhaled the breath and closed her eyes. She entertained herself with thoughts of little forest creatures that had magical abilities wondering down the cliffside and healing her all up. Maybe if she was lucky handsome centaurs would pop out of flipping no where and carry her to their camp, or kingdom, or whatever and make her their queen. No that would be stupid, she wasn't the least bit interested in their horse halves, not like some of the girls at the cloud nine.


"uuuuughhhh." She groaned quickly flushing her mind of unwanted images. "This isn't how I want to die... laying here, unhappy with my last thoughts, go figure they would be dirty though." She grumbled out loud to herself. She also had to stop then and wonder if talking to herself out loud was a sign that she was close to death. Man, the Gods sure were taking their time with carrying her over to the light. She moved her head to the side and looked down her arm that laid crooked and spread out towards the water. She could see the little waves lapping up and covering her skin for a moment and then setting it free again. By now she was mostly numb to the cold though, she could still feel the prickles in her finger tips though.


"Oh Gods, can this move a little faster, I'm tired of this bullshit." She huffed and felt a few uninvited warm tears slide down her cheek. She sighed and closed her eyes again. "Well, I guess it could be worse... this could have been a volcano... that would have been unfortunate." She gave a weak chuckle and choked back a sob that followed it. "Oh look at me, I'm going to die here and I'm making jokes. Mother would have disapproved." She whispered and gave a little sad smile as a memory floated to the forefront of her mind. It was an old one, one she thought she'd forgotten long ago.


Her mother, standing over Fae's little hand that she'd cut on one of her father's farming tools. It was pretty deep and she's gotten blood all over her mothers freshly scrubbed floor and new dress that her mother had just made for her the day before. Faelynn could see the look of disapprovement in her mother's eyes as she snatched her hand and lead her out to the little stream that ran past their home. She dunked her hand into the ice-cold water and made a fss over the mess she made and how she could have gotten her hand cut off or something. "Faelynn, you're too old to be out and playing like a little child, you're a lady, act like one... a young woman now... oh, stop making so many jokes, it's inappropriate at a time like this, whatever are we going to do with you?"


"Sell me to a brothel, that will make a lady out of me." Faelynn answered the memory out loud. She gave another soft chuckle and sighed as she laid there, staring up at the night sky.
 
@VainRochester


Small, light cracks and pops emerged from the darkness of the woods. Though something caught his attention and he turned sharply to look behind him. A sound? maybe. His hearing was no better than a humans, though senses were sharp when on edge. While the night looked almost as clear as the day, he had not noticed anything out of the ordinary before he continuing through the woods a few meters from the actual trail that Airrow took. His eyes searching to catch anything out of the norm.


The forest was not so bad to stalk through. Tall slender trees with much foliage beneath. the rustle of these plants would give him away long before anything else did. As he followed quickly he lost himself in thought again. Why was he so hell bent? Why was he so judgmental of this man. And most of all why was he so sure that the man was nothing but a liar.


It all came back to those years with Mr. Elanessë. Being fed and having a roof from the rain. Eventually you thought that it was OK. That the beatings, being forced to fight, being the punching bag of a pissed off man, being sold for use like an animal, that all these things were normal because at least you got food and shelter. As if you were meant for this world to only be a rock for someone to step on. At least Amras was powerful enough to be his own but what of Fae. A weakly little woman. Even her best surely couldn’t be enough for a mediocre man. Kings where suppose to protect his people. But when kings sit in their thrones, who steps up to protect the weak. Surely the corrupt don’t. That is what Raz dedicated his life too. That is why he swore to help Sir Airrow. To seek vengeance for all those in Zephyr who could not fight. To defend the innocent who are besieged by pain and sorrow and the sins of others.


The Bestia’s eyes darted from one direction to another as a small flicker of light emerged from the fingertip of someone. This person was not someone from their group. Raz didn’t think anyone had caught up to Airrow yet. It had to be someone looking for him, a wanderer or maybe a hunter. The predator would not let another person, especially Airrow of all people, become a victim.


Carefully, silent step, by step, Raz maneuvered around bushes, branches and gently pushed past anything that would make a noise. He kept low and quiet until finally he was directly behind the person. He listened for a few moments. When the person asked their question to Airrow; to be taken as a threat or maybe as someone just curious.


His clawed hand crept around her waist and came up quickly around the female’s throat. The grasping weapon ready to tear out her throat and end a life while the other hand gripped the wrist with the flame on it. With Canine's bared, breathing calm and shallow, Amras breath puffed slightly onto the woman's neck. He released a small deep rumbled growl before the bestia answered Airrow's question for him.


“You are the one seeking peril and death in this darkness.”


His eyes narrowed as he looked up at Airrow to confirm whether to release or end this person.
 
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Iscariot should have been quicker. Alas, she was not one to have the reflexes of a trained warrior. She had felt the presence creep up behind her, an animalistic soul belonging to a half-beast. When its claws came up to her neck and fixed another hand upon the hers that held the flame that illuminated the perilous crag beyond them, she sighed, extinguishing the fire. Darkness plunged back upon them suddenly.


"Peace, beastia. Were I one to hunt thy master, be assured, he would have been naught but ashes by now." Iscariot's voice was as calm and as unsettling as the dark that soon beset the trio. She was fully aware she was at the mercy of he who held his claws at her neck. She was also fully aware that they had just recently lost something or someone of value. "If you persist in holding me at thy grasp, your dear master wouldst not acquire what he seeks in the shadows. Take it to thought, friend. Wouldst thou while away thy time on a harmless researcher or wouldst thou rather assist by letting me light the path for the master?" At this point, it was unwise to use force to persuade the beastia. Words were the only way she could get through this situation. And true, she was not seeking harm, but knowledge amongst this party with regards to the creature they fought. She could only hope that the beast man could at least understand her logic. No assassin had any reason to reveal themselves to their target if they intended to harm. Surely, he saw at least this much, as wary as he was.
 
Ruger's patron deity was the Lady of Luck, and she didn't seem to be smiling down on him today. To be completely honest, he was at a loss at what to do. It was just one disaster after another today. Sleep was a momentary reprieve from the day's events, and he wasn't very much in the mood to lay his head on a bed, even if a gorgeous lady were to accompany him. Ruger retracted that sentence in his head. He MIGHT hesitate if there was a gorgeous lady. In any case, there was no bed-warmer to make the night less cold, and Ruger had no wish to retire just yet, watching his tunic dry in the face of the fire that someone helpfully lit earlier. The water had completely evaporated from the surface of his own skin, causing it to lose the glisten it had just a moment ago. Scars from his previous encounters, most of them from swords and knives of mercenaries, trailed across his upper torso, like snakes in their nest, amongst the stars of arrow marks that have pierced his armor and found themselves in his body.


Ruger rolled his shoulders back and swung his sword hand about as if wielding an invisible sword, before flexing his fingers. A shuffle of feet on the ground alerted him to the presence of someone approaching and he turned to meet them, excitedly expecting one of the ladies. His face fell slightly when he saw it to be the dark haired mage. Northerner, like himself. Kahalalar? Kalahalahar? Good grief, his name was pretty difficult to remember.


" Ahh, Ruger, help Yurt--" he stopped, then continued, " Ruger, Kalhalar is wanting you to help Yurt in the getting of the wine."


Ruger sighed. Lots of people either poked fun at his speech or spoke in the same way he spoke because they sympathised with him. That or some other dumb excuse. "Oy, you do not needing to, how do you say this word...petrolizing? Pontifizing? Patronizing? Anyway, Ruger can understand your wording as easy as fruit fall from tree." He patted the young man on his shoulder. "Please, speak normal way. Do not be making Ruger feeling the uncomfortable, friend. So!" He clapped his hand on the man's back. "Where is other Northern friend in need of Ruger helping, eh? Ruger will help one-hand man!" With a earth-shaking, cheery laugh, the mercenary marched towards where he supposed the wine supply was. His pinpointing was impeccable, as he soon saw the one handed swordsman wondering at how to ship his load over. Ruger strode over and picked up four of the bottles, their necks gripped in either hand. "Is a night for drinking, yes?" Ruger said, trying to sound as conversational as possible. "We lose a lot today. Lives gone with the blowing of the wind. And a blood-stained hand in the group, I can smell. That Fox man, Ruger do not approve. Ahh, if only that wonderful lady who looking like Ruger's friend had been in Ruger's care..." Ruger trailed off, staring into the distance, before shaking his head, resuming his cheerful tone. "Come, Northern comrade! Take as much as you can with hand, and Ruger will help with remaining!"
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Vision had completely went out for a time, until the moon and the stars lighted the land only the slightest. It was enough for him to guide himself along the river. He kept a fair distance, far enough to keep from slipping in and close enough to spot any obscurities along the river. He kept the horse at a heavy sprint, and kept his eyes glared along the river, scanning it over and over in hope to spot any cloth or hint of skin. His mind raced with his eyes, each in a rush to rationalize and calm one another. While in a gallop, Airrow attempted to keep a mind for how far and how long he had been out there, but lost track of any such notion when he began believing the muck clinging to sticks in the water to be cloth. He went far enough that the faint light of the campfire could no longer be hinted in the distance. He had no honest mind on his surroundings, one he went far enough. His mind was focused on finding any sign of a hume woman washing down the river.
His horse stopped him, if anything. As he almost kicked his stirrups into the horses hind, he realized there was suddenly a large amount more of visibility. His eyes were more concerned in scanning the now much more visible waters than looking out for where ever the light was coming from. Only when the woman began to speak in a primitive tone did he force his attention away from his search. There was an accent, of course, but it was barely there. He could tell it was from Faernyae, thanks to passing through there and learning to understand the dialect enough to get by. It was not really that she was like Ruger, where she did not speak the language well, but more that she did not speak it correctly. Airrow took note, even in situations and mindsets like these, he kept constant track of who he met, more or less against his own will.


A dark robed woman, hidden beneath a hood and more so by the one light amongst the dark, which becomes blinding when eyes have adjusted to the dark. If she was an assassin, then she was no good at her line of work, unless she sought out a bounty more than clean kill. Messiness was not a tactic unused to set examples. Fire, that much he could tell. He did not like her introduction, mostly due to her riddle like statement, as true as it was, it sounded as if she was hinting at some sort of intimidation.


Airrow's mind was elsewhere, he did not have any sense to reason with her. His sword went to his sword and without much subtlety, drew it clear out. His eyes were transfixed on her hands, as he could not see her eyes and thus could not see where her focus was aimed. He adjusted only slightly in his saddle, sitting in a more comfortable place, whereas he could strike from his mantle while riding by. If he were to win this, he would most likely lose the horse, if he were to lose this, well.


Within a few moments, a large figure had appeared behind the woman and clutched around her neck and arm. It was a furry fellow too, large and orange. It took Airrow a moment, but he recognized the beast of a man as Amras. The woman put out the light, and again the place was covered in a blinding dark. Once again, Airrow had to take a moment to adjust to the sudden change in lighting. They began speaking to one another, Amras let out a threat. The woman began speaking in an attempt to save herself. She was definitely right, and acknowledged the same as Airrow, an assassin would have killed him on the spot.


"Yield, Raz, there is no threat here." He nudged the horse forward. He adjusted his sword, as to keep it behind the horses head. While he did not feel safe enough to sheath it, he at least removed it from sight to allow some ease to the tension. "Her reason is valid enough, whereas I find myself pondering your reason for disobeying an order. If I recall, in my angered haze, I had demanded that all stay at camp, so as to allow you all some rest and ease my worrying of the party. We have three strangers among the camp, and you are one of the warriors of our encampment, what would you feel if we were to return to corpses as our numbers become cut by not one but two, not including who I currently search for." Airrow quit his scolding and looked once more to the river. His attention was divided and still elsewhere. He noticed the split in the river, forking off in other directions. There was no hope in following it further.


"We should make our way back now. Eyes on the river, Raz, in the case that we missed her on out first pass."


Airrow began reeling the horse around before returning his attention to the stranger. "Death and peril does not hid in the darkness, but rather the light. As most interpret, when death takes hold, light is all you see, or rather we move towards the light. As to say, darkness is not what is to be feared, for it does not hold death, but rather light holds peril. I do my best not to fear ambiguity, but, as exampled," Airrow placed his sword in its scabbard, "like all humans, darkness is innately a time of insecurity."


He began his horse on a steady walk back, as not to leave Raz behind. "There is a lady who has fallen into the river, we search for her. If you come across her, alive or dead, please do inform me. Further more, a woman as fragile looking as yourself should find escort or a bed to sleep in, more treacherous things than my companion that lurk along these lands. Come along Raz, I fear for our fellows at camp, those who assaulted may return."
 
"Yes, Ruger, I suppose this is a night for drinking. Why else would Kalalar request these bottles?"


The northern sellsword, Ruger, arrived though Yurt had heard him long before he made his appearance. That hearty laugh could be a warhorn for all he cared. No blowing required just the sight of Ruger and the rest of us rushing at the enemy all while he was laughing. It would be a horrifying sight to behold. The grinning reaper and his death dealing army.


"We did not lose so much, the enemy lost more. They have a right to fear us and they were correct to run away. I wouldn't have let them escape were I whole, the slayer would never allow that!"


He felt powerful once more, to be able to say that, to be able to become whole again. It was a beautiful prospect to behold, yet one out of his reach. Then it became sour with the mention of Fox. There was something about that man that didn't quite sit right now that he had thought about it long and hard. A real warrior would have held his ground and stopped the tide instead of pulling back nearer to the non fighters. It put them at greater risk even though they could easily keep an eye on them.


"You smell the stench of cowardice from him too, Ruger? That makes two of us, I was held in awe of his intellect during the battle but strategies were always for cowards. I wonder what really happened to Fay? If he was a true man, he wouldn't come back here, he'd dive in after her and return WITH her. In any case, this is as much as I could carry."


He held up his one hand with four bottles of wine in them, locked between his fingers.


"All this talk gets us nowhere, we just have to hope Arrow and the others find her. Now lets give Kalalar his bottles."
 
Listening to Airrow and the woman, he released her from his grasp. Though he was not entirely won on the idea of her being safe. She could just use them to lure back to camp before killing everyone. Seemed like to much work for one person though. Listening to the two of them he wandered a little farther down the river, still within eye shot.


“I see better at night than either of you. I’ll head farther up the river, cross over then head back on the other side.” Raz said to Airrow. He was obviously still going against what he had ordered and it wasnt out of spite or insubordination. Raz simply wanted to make sure that they were not missing her body. Streams moved fast. If she floated farther down it would be a shame to miss.


“I won’t be far behind.” With that he headed off. This time he traveled slowly, watching for details and anything out of the way. For now there wasnt much to see. their side of the river was almost like a ravine. Rocks and deep drop. If one were to fall it would be no different than before. However he could see that the other side dropped down to river level.


Hanging onto a tree and peering off the side, their cliff continued as far as the eye could see. Raz was going to follow it until he could get down to the other side. She had to be somewhere. It reminded him of how he felt after that night. Feeling so alone, and scared and broken. It was personal, he had to find her. He would find her.
 
Iscariot felt the claws release her. Out of human instinct, she breathed a sigh of relief, though she felt not a single iota of such an emotion. "There is truth in what you say, sir." Iscariot spoke in reply to the crimson-armored man. His theory was amazingly profound, and she was rather impressed with his thinking. Indeed, she had to concede, in this regard, that light held indeed, more danger than the dark. Then again, both light and dark were one and the same. With light, comes darkness, and light always ends in darkness, as long as there is something to impede it. She couldn't be entirely sure of light being part of death either. She needed evidence. Second-rate recounts are as reliable as a bag made of wet paper, which is to say not at all.


"I am afraid," she started, starting after the crimson soldier's horse, "I do not follow the river's trail. Call me heartless, but I pursue less noble things than courage to save a dying woman. I seek knowledge and from your encounter with those monsters, I believe travelling with you will help in my studies." She cast a look towards the beastia, whom the crimson knight had called Raz. "Rest assured, I will bring no harm to anyone in your group. I can hardly muster enough firepower to even harm any of you. It is merely enough to get me through these lands. I have walked a path frought with bandits and the like of their ilk. Unless you fancy yourselves weaklings like they, I can hardly doubt I will do much against you."


She cleared her throat and turned her attention back to the silver haired one, lowering her head slightly in a show of politeness. "Might I have the pleasure and honour of joining your crew, sir? I understand if you will refuse, for I have nothing to offer but another few streams of fire where you need me to point should it come to that."
 
“All lives are equal to Ruger. They are as preciously as gemstones, eh?” Ruger picked up an extra bottle of hard liquor, reserved just for himself, and included them with the current stash he was carrying, and moved to fall in step with his Northern comrade. “Losing one life is equal to losing all of Ruger’s pocket money. Is why Ruger is wanting to protect, why Ruger keep holding on to sword. And to lose a pretty lady looking like Ruger friend?” He shook his head. “It is enough to make grown man weeping tears of sorrow. Losing any lady at all make Ruger very sad. Heh. If only time is more forgivable, yes? But never minding that. Fate will play her hand, and if she is wishing that pretty lady survive, she will.” As nonchalantly as Ruger said it, his voice bore a light quiver in it, as if still distraught about his inability to save her. It was torturous to imagine her face go down into the depths of the water, swept away by the power of the current. It made him madder as he kept relating her to the Fox man. It was all he could do to keep his sword in its home. It sang to him in its steel. Sang to him that it called for this coward’s blood. This knave, this liar, this man who had no heart. Mercenaries who killed for money had more love for life than he.


“Bah, Ruger is not wanting to talk about coward fox- he is smelling worse than coward dice. He is smelling like the blood of innocent. He is not the man he is thinking he look like. His thinking may be smartering than Ruger’s, but Ruger have other things better than his gaming of minds.” There was barely repressed fury in his voice as he tapped his nose. Truly a frightening tinge, for when a kind man goes to war, even the devils hide. “Heh, we hunters of people, you and Ruger, can seeing a lot that these innocents cannot. But at last, who will listen to who? The man with pretty face and kind wordings and the smartings? Or rough men with scarrings, broken speaking and swinging sword like barabarian? So cruel, this world.” Ruger raised his hand, full of wine bottles towards Kal…halar? “Hoy! We are having the wine you want! Where do you needing them to be?”
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Yurt had let his fellow northerner finish his piece. It gave him something to think about as they ferried the liquor to Kalalar. He had played the part of the silent companion as Ruger began talking. As hard as it was to comprehend Ruger, when one got past his seemingly idle rambling, he actually had wisdom to him.


All lives are equal, like precious gems. Ruger, you just don't understand how wise you can be at times.


It was clear that simply standing around does not sit well with Ruger, and who could blame him? Most northerners prefer fighting on their feet, scouting new territories and the like. However, here they were breaking that practice by bringing a few bottles of wine from one point to another. He understood Ruger's sentiments but he couldn't really care much about it. He just wanted to go out there and do something, regardless of the circumstance or who fell into what. He had been sitting and studying and learning for far too long, that may be a valid way of life for others but deep down, it was never the one for Yurt. By all rights he should have been executed all those years back in stead of being forced to live half a man.


"That, my comrade, depends on where you are. If you are of the north as I am, of course the battle worn warrior is more...believable. Down here in the south, things are different as you may have noticed. Sometimes...nevermind. Let's just get this over with."


Yurt kept quiet while Ruger asked Kalalar where the bottles were supposed to be put.


"An elder once said, 'It does no good for a man to simply sit and wait. Razaranje favors those who seize the challenge and the reward.'"
 
Amras seemed to like taking initiative, to the point where Airrow almost found it insubordination. It was no real bother, and Airrow understood the fragile relationship he most likely had with all of the campaign members. For now, he did not think to force too much order upon them, but in time he would need to call them into line and into shape, else they would surely lose their reason. A repetition of his father's mistake, that would truly be the only thing that would send Airrow into a true madness, if he was not already there. So, for now, he would humor Amras's small delinquency.


"Be sure to arrive at the camp before I do. I stay to my word, we will be moving onward." Airrow called after the bestia.


Airrow spent a few moments, watching Amras disappear into the darkness as the hooded stranger went on beside him. For some few minutes, he kept relatively silent, watching the rushing waters below, leaving the stranger's requests in the air. His lingering ceased only when quite suddenly nudged her arm with the flat of his sword.


"Keep that flame of yours lit," He murmured before hiding his blade away in its scabbard. He nudged the horse forward somewhat and began moving onward back towards the camp. He expected her to follow, "You wish to follow us without an idea of whom we are?" Or perhaps she knew, as she had known about the attack from those feathered fellows, at the least he could take from her that she had been watching or searching for them. "I have no disagreements with allowing you to join myself and companions, but first I would like to assure that you know what it is we are seeking to accomplish in our small group. If you have looked closely to the west, the smoke still rises from the once magnificent and beauteous Zephyr. The reason for Zephyr's sudden raze is due to a monstrous being from the northern dead lands, Crimston it was, and that is whom we have aligned together to hunt, in Zephyr's name, in the Alpha's name, in the name of Saint Hubert, in the name of Emperor Zephyrus, and for all those of Zephyr. So we travel across the entire Realm of Gods, from the free coast to the mountains in Agartha, to fight what we believe may be an vile and evil god, Crimston. While I would assume that you do not seek to stay with us for all of the journey, I would warn you, we tend to travel without long rest. I plan to be at the mountainous north before a full year has passed before us. This means the mountain range before us, blocking way to Yrgen and Faernyae, will begin to ice over, and we may freeze within it if we do not move through it before winter becomes its worst." Airrow had been moving at a somewhat slow pace, to keep from leaving the girl behind.


Iscariot obeyed the crimson knight's request and summoned once again the warm flame to her hand, casting yet again, light upon their surroundings, and listened as he talked, urging his horse forwards in a slow canter at the same time, keeping in line with her as they walked back to the encampment earlier. When he was done with his piece, Iscariot nodded for a while, letting the information sink in in the silence, then started.


"I seek only knowledge. It does not matter to me if you were assassins or poachers. From the looks of your crew, however, you seem less like those, and more of a party in search of something. A great hunt, I shall say." She turned her head towards where Zephyr, or what remains of it, lay. "As for the destroyed city, I have seen that it now lies dead. I could not hear the hustle and bustle of the people, nor the thriving of so-- excuse me." She coughed, skipping over her last line. There was no need for them to know she had an affinity with other souls, being one herself.


"And you say you plan on hunting down Crimston?" A wry smile snaked its way onto her lips and she gave a short, muffled chuckle. "All the more I wish to follow. Do not worry about my well being, Sir Knight. I am capable of handling the natural elements. I do look weak in physique, but trust you, me, I can keep up as easy as your best man."


Iscariot reached for her hood and threw it back, revealing her dark brown hair and face completely. "I am Iscariot Judea Tailwood, daughter of Lester Fernoglious Tailwood." She bowed slightly to the crimson knight. It was tiring for her mind to keep referring to him as the crimson knight or other similar appelations. "If we are to travel together, we must at least know the name of the other."


"Understandable," Airrow began, "I will not prohibit your pursuit for knowledge, but I will not encourage it if it hints at becoming troublesome for a troops safety, as to say if any illegal activities are begun, I may act to stopping or removing you from your studies. But little to worry, I have faith you'll keep from such affairs, for my party is not a escort force, we have our own goals." He paused for a few moments as they trotted along. "Well, fair lady Tailwood, I find a nice pleasure to be in your acquaintance, perhaps under better conditions I could have made your friendship under better circumstances. I am Lord Airrow Airs of Zephyr, son of the Alpha Rige Airs of the Djinn Wolves, and please, do not refer to be as sir. That title is accounted to knights, and I am no such thing. If you wish to call me by a formal name, then please call me lord, as that would be more proper. Otherwise, speak to me in a much more kindly manner, as in call me as a friend." Once again, he paused to watch the waters. "My best man, thus far, is a northerner, fearsome fellow. As any would know, northerners are entirely hard to keep up with. If not him, then the bestia who prowls the other end of the river can quite easily contend for that place. And that reminds me, I should warn you of my party members. There is some inconsistency between us, as we have all only be acquainted for a short while. Especially three whom have just appeared among us. A man who takes both sword and wizardry, a large fellow whom takes up a peculiar weapon, and a curious diuris woman. All are quite friendly, rest assured. None to fear when it comes to my party member's kindness."


Airrow paused once again, stopping the horse as well. He shot a piercing gaze into the river, not too far off ahead of them. Beneath a small cliff over the river, a piece shore was large enough to carry a body, and it was indeed carrying something. Airrow kicked the horse into a gallop, riding up passed the cliff a small way then dismounting. He began removing the heavier bits of his garment, and in a mad frenzy before tossing himself into the river. He let the river carry him somewhat as he directed himself at the shore. He tore at the river until he arrived beside the motionless body. His hands clamoring over her sides and neck, feeling for her breath and movement. He noticed a large amount of red flowing from her head. He hadn't much medical supplies on him, they would need to rush her back to camp.


"Iscariot, call for Raz!" He yelled from near the river, hoping he could be heard over the rushing waters. He sweeped his arms under Fae's legs and back, pulling her up from the ground and cradling her close to his chest, to keep her limbs from dangling uncomfortably. He stared up at light above, hoping the stranger would act quickly. "Stay with me, Fae. I still have to tell you all about my journey, and you have to tell me about what's been going on while I was away. I can tell about all things I've seen, about all the temples, and the towns, and the people, and the creatures I've seen. We still have too much to talk about Fae. You can't go yet, Fae, there's too much."


His face was wet, but he had only left the river after all.
 
The longer Fox stood there next to his horse the more fidgety and nervous he grew. He mumbled under his breath, his eyes darted left from right as he looked at everyone. Was everyone watching him? Everyone was watching him, they had to be and thinking about what he did and what they would do to him just like that old man. He took a deep breath and stood up straight. Quickly, he took the last swig of his bottle of wine and tossed it to the side. He contemplated leaping onto his horse right then and riding into the darkness but he knew that would be stupid. He needed to wait, he would leave when it was right but right then would have surely gotten him caught and killed by these people. He shuddered under his mask of grieving fiance and crossed his arms, his eyes on the woods where Airrow and Raz had disappeared. Hopefully, they would both return empty handed.


Cold breeze, sleep. Cold water, sleep. Cold hands, sleep- wait. With a gasp Faelynn's eyes opened and she sucked in a hard breath and coughed on a sharp pain that radiated through her chest. She blinked a few times in her daze and looked into the dripping wet face of Airrow Airs. He looked away for her a moment and yelled something into the night and then quickly scooped her shivering mass into his arms. She howled in pain as her dislocated arm slammed against his body and stars exploded behind her tightly shut eyes. He was talking to her but she was only catching a few words at a time. Stories, he had things he needed to tell her about the time he was away from Zephyr. How long was he away again? He must have a lot of stories. She squeezed her eyes tight then opened them, wincing against every move he took as he stood there holding her tightly against him. He was all wet from the river but somehow felt a little warmer than herself so she did her best against her pain, to snuggle against him and try and soak in his warmth.


"Trust me... you don't want to her what I did while you were away." She whispered against him. Her throat was sore and she found it difficult to swallow without swallowing a lot of fluid that happened to be draining down her throat and out of her nose. She had to look absolutely disgusting to this man but if he was bothered he didn't show it. She squinted up at him and ignored the pounding in her head and dizziness.


"Please... whatever you do, Airrow... please don't cut my arm off." She cleared her throat and gave a half smile at the terrible joke she made referring to the boy's arm he removed without hesitation hours before. "Hehe.... then I'd- I'd have to give discounts... I-I can't charge full price for half a prostitute..." She have a small chuckle. Her heart pounded in her ears and all she wanted to do was go back to sleep next to a fire with the others, all except for well, Fox of course.


Fox!


Her eyes flew open once again. Damn, she hadn't even noticed she's closed them this time. She swallowed hard and reached out with her other hand to turn Airrow's face towards her. He had to listen to this, this was important, she had no idea where he was he could be anywhere he could have gone, he could be right above them! "Airrow, F-fox." She started and blinked against the waves of dizziness and fatigue that kept coming at her like the rapids lapping at Airrow's feet. This was very frustrating, all she wanted to do was tell him but her teeth and bottom lip wouldn't stop chattering. "F-Fox, he- he where is he? Is- is he-?" She felt panic rise in her chest and she started to look around, sending sharp pains through her arm and chest and head. "He did- he pushed, I hit my arm but, but fell here." She swallowed hard again and decided that that was probably enough talking on her end, she just needed to rest and wait for them to get the hell away from here.
 
@Erica


Her fingers enjoyed the soft, ticklish feel of Dante's fur as she carefully took in every word Aesriel muttered. Any information, unimportant or important, was to be collected and analyzed in her mind; a habit she got from her time within the Red Hoods. The fact that Aesriel was not with a school at the moment intrigued her slightly, as most sages would try to find one as fast as they aquired their title meaning that Aesriel either was a new sage that haven't gotten the chance to search for one or... Or she wasn't looking for one in the first place.


The second option was bendable, anything could have lead the lady to not search for a school, Lorelai told herself as she watched the men prattle on with each other, the man by the name of Kalhalar giving them orders to get the wine. A bit heartless, as one of the men only possessed one arm to use and the other seemed to be a fool with the way he talked. On the other hand, Fox was getting more and more on Lorelai's bad side as he seemed too... Too concerned...


The man looked like he couldn't wait to leave, if anything. And Lorelai would keep observing him if Aesriel didn't sound so annoyed over Airrows concern of the poorly clad Fae, the woman that probably was dead, wasting their time as Lorelai smiled a tight smile at Aesriel. "I suppose I can join your group then. Wouldn't want any of those monstrous things attacking again..."


Her voice was filled with light relief, her nose twitching at the foul smell coming from her bag, as Dante decided to stand right next to her and the beauty. "May I excuse myself? Dante is in need of a walk, or he will be unsettled for the rest of the night... I need him to rest before we start the rest of the journey. I will be back before long, I give you my word."


With that, Lorelai quickly saddled herself and trudged away with her companion into the forest.


She needed to get rid of the rotting head inside her bag.


----------------------------


@Auren


"There boy, no more of that foul smell!" Lorelai wiped the sweat from her forehead as she looked at the ground. She had dug a small hole with her blade and hid the head inside, frowning at the effort she had put into getting that piece of rotting flesh to her client. Too bad he was dead. Her fingers reached over to the root of one of the many trees, using her blade she cut as deep into the rot as she could and pulled as hard as possible to get it to loosen.


With a thud, the young lady fell on her behind, her fathers soul digging into her chest and her hood falling off. Lorelai didn't miss the snort coming from Dante, the horse seemed to be amused.


"At least I got the root..." She muttered out, and took a few fallen branches from the ground. Her body crawled over to the slightly out of place patch of dirt, dropping the branches onto it and hiding the root slightly underneath. She was dirty, her robe was surely going to stain and the only excuse she could have was that she either slipped or that she was collecting herbs.


She rolled her eyes, a deep sigh escaping her lips as she dusted herself off after standing up rather ungracefully from the ground.


I am sure that Achillea grows somewhere around here...





Nonetheless, Lorelai grabbed Dante's reigns and studied every plant she saw, looking for any useful herb she could find. Her eyes squinting to see anything in the dark, so concentrated that she barely noticed her hair come undone from its bun before it got into her eyes. A small curse escaped her lips but she merely moved it away from her sight as she thought she sighted the herb.


"Thank Lord." Her soft voice exclaimed as she dropped to her knees and carefully removed the plant, with its root, from the ground. She turned seconds later to notice that she wasn't far away from camp at all, making her frown. She hoped noone would notice her, at least not whilst she was without her hood, her hair a dirty mess.


"Stop it! Dante!" The young lady found herself giggling at the horse which tried to eat her hair until a rustle was heard from above her. Within a second, she had drawn her sword and taken out a small throwing knife, throwing it quickly upwards. Luckily for Ramya, it hit a bit to her left. Lorelai was not in doubt that someone was there, with years of experience, she knew the difference in the sound of a squirrel and a larger being.


"I advise you to show yourself before I call for the rest of my fellow travelers."


[[Ah, Ramya is finally getting the attention she deserves. Hopefully, Lorelai won't need to call for her friends, as she doesn't quite like the thought of any of them seeing her without her hood.]]


 
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Kalhalar moved his hand in circles, continuing to stir the stew. He looked up as Ruger asked him a question.


“Ah, well, leave one with me, Ruger,” Kal was keeping Ruger’s advice in mind. “As for the others…” Kal had to stop for a second. Why had he asked the two to grab eight bottles of wine? It was as if he was forgetting his own reason for doing things. Considering the circumstances, though, perhaps it was a ‘night for drinking’ as he had heard Ruger say earlier. “Pass the others to the rest of the group. If Airrow comes back alone, then the wine will help us mourn. And if the lady is alive and my friend does find her, then we have reason to celebrate. That and the wine could help calm the lady’s nerves. I imagine most people don’t take very well to falling into a river and almost dying.” He quickly took a bottle from Yurt. “Hmph, only a day and already we’ve lost a life. The poor soul… and the worst still lies ahead of us. Perhaps, then, it is best that she was ended quickly. Better than freezing or starving in the mountains.” Opening the bottle, he poured a small amount of the wine into the stew, leaving the rest for his own use. “This wouldn’t bode well for our journey.” He paused, in both his cooking and his speaking, to watch a small bug fly past him towards the campfire. No matter what happened to the group, life in the world would continue to go on. And yet, if they succeeded in their goal, they would be remembered as legends, no matter the loss.


He reached back into his basket, pulling out some herbs and adding them to the stew as well. “The stew will be ready soon. We should probably get ready to eat.” He took a closer look at the pot, examining the contents within. “I’m not sure how good it’ll be. I rarely cook for others, and my taste tends to be different from most people, according to Airrow.”
 
Fyodor awoke from what seemed to be an endless slumber to the warm glow of a bonfire crackling away and the pungent stench emerging from a pot perched precariously over it. As he slowly regained feeling throughout his body, he tried to recall previous events. A burning city, birdmen a mad dash to safety, and a bunch of colourful characters, quite the surreal experience it had been. In retrospect it was probably a bad idea to skip out on that Airrow fellow’s questioning session to take a nap, but hey, a man needs his beauty sleep.


“So much for a simple shopping trip, you can’t buy a boquet of Dionaera Majoris without getting accosted by plebians anymore, can you?”


He rubbed his eyes and grabbed one of the bottles nearby and took a hearty swig, without so much as bothering to get off his arse to check the contents of said bottle.


“Wine, the cheap kind someone probably made in a toilet,” he mused to himself. “Better than my own piss, I suppose.”


He let out a large belch as he set the bottle aside, before finally making any semblance of movement, by turning to his side to face the three figures by the fireside, clearly disgusted by their unwelcome guest. He waved his forearm lazily at them and gave them an idiotic grin as he sat up and yawned.


“Good morning…evening…whatever to you fine gentlemeeeen,” he slurred drowsily, “would you be ever so kind as to enlighten this poor soul as to just what the hell has been happening?"
Click to expand...
 
Ramya smelled the girl before she appeared, reeking of carrion and dirt , and the diuris wasn’t really keeping herself quiet. She moved to get a better look at the girl and the companion, to access the threat. The throwing knife almost hit her, and she silently cursed herself for making any movement at all. Tucking her tail under her cloak, Ramya accepted that she had been discovered. It was time to play.


She loosed her muscles, and leaned her shoulders back into a very relaxed position. She pulled a small pouch out from one of the hidden pockets inside her cloak, and held the pouch to her nose. The girl’s smell was distracting, as most smells of the damned are. The lavender in the little canvas pouch was enough to disguise the overpowering stench. She placed the pouch back into her cloak.


After grabbing the throwing knife with her pointer and middle finger, putting it into a pocket in her cloak, she looped her legs around the tree’s limb, swinging upside down and catching the branch below that one with her hands before looping around. She hung like a monkey before the girl. Her hood had dropped back to reveal her amber eyes, and her hair covered the small point to her ears, the one thing that might alert the girl to Ramya not being a hume.


“Hiya!” she giggled. “Sorry to alarm you. I saw an owl, and you know I research those sorts of things, and I was trying to catch it. You should have seen it!” She dropped down from the branch. She pulled out the knife and held it out to the girl. “I can’t believe you almost hit me. I mean, it was pretty amazing. You know, my brother throws knives like that, and he always made fun of me because I am just terrible at it. I mean, I throw like such a priss. That’s what my brother says anyways.” She grinned again, her eyes lighting up as she looked at the horse. “Oh my! What a beautiful stallion! Are you a noble?” She widened her eyes at the girl. “I've never met a noble before, you know? I definitely never thought I’d see one out here.”


The act was one she was well used to. Playing as Rammie, the young country bumpkin. Perhaps she could avoid any altercation altogether, if the diuris wasn’t overly suspicious.
 
Step after step, into a bound and with his last step, Raz pushed off of the ledge above the river hurling himself into the air. Quickly gravity took over and he began to fall rather than travel through the air. Both his arms reached out and finally after what felt like minutes he hit the tree. His fingered gripped in such a way that his claws dug at the bark and as his body slowed bark came of the tree in a mildly loud explosion of dried wood. He continued to slide for another foot before fully stopping. Now his task was to just climb down the rest of it to the bank below.


Upon hitting the ground, he crouched low to the ground and silent. soaking in the sounds and movements. A little ways ahead of him he could see the light of the Witch that had found Airrow. His eyes adjusted soaking in the light from his surrounding. His eyes, while better than a hume’s, in the pitch of night were still not as good as during the evening sky, or a moon soaked night. after a few moments the light faded off and everything seemed calm, that was except the gurgling bustle of the river that flowed next to him, it’s voice was almost deafening at times.


This time instead of moving fast, he moved with precision, looking at everything he could. Picking up objects and smelling them slowly. His scent was much like a hume’s but anything soaked in blood had a distinct smell even generic race’s could smell. The chance that he would catch something was small and even then it would be untraceable but at the very least they would know if she had in fact fallen into the river. There was much unknown to the events that happened earlier this evening.


As he continued up the the side, following his own trail. Sometimes he would wander a little from the shore, hoping maybe she had simply gotten up and walked away. Other times he was a little disappointed there was almost no trace of her at all. He was almost caught up to Airrow. Again he could see the light maybe 50 yards in front of him when something sputtering in the river caught his eye. At first it glimmered like water, but it was dull against the Witch’s light, unlike the water around it that glimmered. But from that distance he could not fully tell what it was. He trotted up to it and crouched down, his one foot under the water up to his ankle, his arm, out reached before finally a finger caught it.


With the material in hand he examined it closely. It kind of had the color of Fae’s clothing but in this darkness it was hard to tell. Soaked in water, he held it to his nose and slowly inhaled. It did not smell much like anything besides the water it had been in. So far, it could be completely unrelated to Fae. His ears perked up and turned towards in front of him; towards where Airrow and the Witch were.


Airrow shouted. He could of swore he heard his name. Raz Focused, trying to clarify them in the distance. All that could be seen was someone look as though someone was moving towards the Witch. But its figure was wider, more bulky than what he figured a person of Sir Airrow’s size would be. Taking only a moment to decide whether to go or stay, he turned in toe and ran. He kept the cloth in his hand so when they arrived maybe one of the two could examine it better than he could.


Within a few seconds, Raz was across from Airrow and the Witch and could Clearly see they had found a body. His heart sank when it appeared that she was not moving. Turning behind him, quickly he scanned for something he could use to get back across the river. Branches wouldn’t hold him, but surely the hollow rotten log he saw would. With a brisk pace he wandered over, picked it up and carefully placed it against a boulder a little ways into the water. the width of the river was not that great here but apparently its deepness varied. He could see Airrow was soaked. With a few bounds Amras ran up and leaped from the log. His last step dislodging it from its place. Raz dove, as if going into a deep pool but instead tumbled at the shore. He had not quite made it the full distance across so now he two was mostly wet, though just his backside and feet.


As he rushed over to Sir Airrow he now saw Fae. She looked badly injured and disorientated. But somehow for now, she had survived her ordeal. His eyes shot from Airrow, to the Witch, and back to Airrow. She started to mumble about Fox, scared to death. Raz, without realizing it, had growled lightly upon her saying his name. He know Fox was bad news. Raz had seen many dealings with people who were conniving, scheming and overall just out for gold. Only Fae knew his true colors but the Fae in her eyes now, and what he saw before. Fox would pay, but not by his hand. The only way to forgive those types of sins was for the prey to punish the predator.


“What does we do now? We can’t take her back ta camp. The person responsible may turn on 'nother when they see dat we found her.” Raz said, holding up a piece of her clothing he had found. His eyes shifted to it for a second, “What about ah distraction? You know, ta separate the prey from da predator?” He cracked a light smile.
 
"Iscariot, call for Raz!"


Iscariot had no good idea what she was distracted about, as her mind simply wandered off, lost in the wilderness of thoughts that whirled about in her head. She was both giddy and curious, perhaps giddy with curiousity, about the new ventures she would pave with her research on these beings. Those feathered foes were clearly not nocturnal, having attacked the party at sunset. There was still light, hence, they could not have been--


And it was then Airrow's voice pierced her thoughts like a bolt through the sky. Still dazed, Iscariot had to reaffirm the current situation. She held her hand which housed the fire higher, and saw that the crimson knight had made his way down to the river. So he had found what he needed.


She felt the presence of the beastia again. The feral soul of a fierce fighter. The one that held her at the brink of the chasm of Death earlier. She couldn't just forget one such soul after it had been simply pressing against her back. Very calmly, she made her way down to Airrow and his quarry, as the beastia dashed past her.


"He heard you, Airrow. I wouldn't pass a good man like this up for anything in the world if he is so intent on serving you so well." Iscariot remarked, her voice calm as the breeze that swept over the valleys. The unsettling calmness.


With the flame in her hand, she crouched down and examined the woman that Airrow had found. She made several mutterings, and brushed the wet hair away from the bloodied scalp of the woman without care of personal space. She felt the arm of the woman, gave a quick glance at the oddly bent arm, then gave something akin to a wince.


"You're lucky you do not have a fractured skull, otherwise we'll be having lots of trouble. But your dislocated arm...I can help it mend itself. But..." Iscariot licked her dry lips and paused for a while, then continued, "it'll hurt a lot. To be exact, I need to reposition your arm by force."


She turned to Airrow and Raz. "So I hear that someone in your camp is all ready to kill her on sight? Some fox? What is he, a beastia of some sort? In any case," she stood up and removed her hooded robes from her own body, revealing the black tunic and leather-padded armor she wore underneath, and gave it to Raz to hand it to the lady after she had at least dried up, "if you need subterfuge, the hood of this robe will no doubt shade your features. It has done well for me so far.


"Though I have just one thing to say. A predator may lose sight of his prey, but an injured prey will make it only as far. And she is injured and broken. She's lucky she didn't receive a concussion that resulted in a comatose state or broken more than just her one arm. She probably did a number on her ribs as well, as you can see by how she winces and instinctively twitches towards her chest."
 
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