Chapter 2 - Shadows Under Stars

[Cadrius]

Time. They've lost precious time.

An hour has passed since the stranger and his three men had left the ruins, and the halfling, behind. The others had come thereafter; Aleina, Lyr, and Rhotha'ah arriving together. Dun coming up the hill ten minutes later, rubbing the a large lump on his forehead. The stars are out, but as the young man's head proves, it isn't safe to travel by them alone. They seem cold, tonight, especially distant. Perhaps the old gods, the ones who used to caress the land before the Sundering, are finally abandoning these lands. And if the divine has given up hope, what can mortals possibly do?

Yet none of them are plagued by that. They have a task in mind, and the will to see it through. A man, a self-professed healer, is in danger and they hope to keep him safe. The stranger and his men will undoubtedly prove to be deadly foes, but there seems to be little choice left.

But the darkness, it hinders them greatly. Heulwen and her companion Cytaill care little for the shadows, their keen eyes piercing it far better than the humans. Yet the others cannot move as quickly as they could during the day. Torches are struck to light the way, but they must move somewhat carefully. Fortunately for them, the halfing must as well. For if she is to track those that came before, she cannot move too quickly for fear of losing the trail.

Cytaill himself appears to largely ignore the humans, not allowing to be petted as a normal hound might. Indeed, he even growled at Lyr the first time he drew close to the wogren. Yet a reassuring word from Heulwen calmed him. Still, the scholarly man would not wish to make an enemy out of the beast.

The great Dorn, Rhotha'ah, feels almost at home in the chill air and rolling plains before them. He's never been home, the real homeland of his ancestors, but there's something about the Westlands that almost feels right to him. Not quite, but the evening summons memories of his youth amongst his tribe. Thoughts of his wife attempt to rise up, to rip at his heart once more, but the proud northman crushes them back down. He has business to attend to. Worry will make him weak and he must be strong if he is to keep the others safe tonight.

The throbbing in Dun's head slowly subsides and he gingerly touches the spot where his head had struck. A large, goose egg marks its spot, but he doesn't appear to be bleeding. He counts himself lucky; a fall in the dark could have ended up with a far more dire result. Thoughts of his missing father and the vauge information he was able to gather from the residents of Kingscross plague him. The night has a way of bringing out the worry and fear in men. For the first time, Dun wonders if Dura Abben might have met his end along the road, perhaps this very one.

Aleina walks beside her mule, Bombur, and wonders what will happen should they overtake the man. While she and her companion's pace is slowed, it is certain that the stranger's must be as well. With any luck the healer will see them coming and get off the road. Whether or not that will do any good, remains to be seen.

Heulwen sticks to the trail closely, her eyes marking the footprints of the men and the hoofprints of the horse. She follows it and the others follow her through the night. They move as swiftly as they can, but she has a nagging suspicion that they aren't making up ground, that they will find the healer an hour too late.

And then she finds something curious. The road they follow splits, one forking to the north east the other in a more westerly direction. She stops and looks at each branch, searching for tracks. And it's then that she sees it. The horse's hooves go off to the west, but the stranger and his men look to have taken the other road. The one heading north east. Why they would do such a thing is beyond Heulwen. She worries, perhaps she's seeing the tracks of another horse. The halfling looks back to the trail and scrutinizes it. No, the same hooves she's followed from Kingscross are the ones that go west. Only one horse has been through here recently.

They stand at the fork, and the night presses in about them. And they can feel time, like the sands of a man's life, slipping through their fingers.

[Black Plauge]

Bubbling with hope at the sign of the divided trail, Heulwen studies it again and again, confirming with her nose what her eyes are telling her.

Finally satisfied that she has made no mistake, she stands and looks at the others, "It is as I hoped. The healer has turned to the west here while the Shadow's men have headed north. In their haste they missed the turn in the healer's trail."

"We have a choice now, we can either follow the healer, placing ourselves between him and his pursuers, for they will likely realize their mistake and turn around at some point, or follow the pursuers, attempting to catch them when they turn back around."

"Myself, I favor going after the healer."

[Berova]

Dun

Finally, a hopeful sign that they may yet have a hand on the Healer's fate, Dun offers a soft sigh in partial relief.

"I concur with you Heulwen, taking the Healer's path would be the most prudent course, but are you certain those doing the Shadow's bidding made an unintended turn?"

[Kahluah]

Rhotha'ah

The Dorn looks at the divided trail and frowns, his brow creasing under the tensed muscles. "While chasing after the Healer would be the wisest move, I can't help but think they diverged from his path for a reason."

Looking to Aleina, he continues his vocal pondering. "You saw how that man tracked with senses none of us could possess, surely he wouldn't divert from chasing down his quarry without reason to do so. Maybe the're circling around him to get in front of him, or something just as conniving. I say we chase the four."

[Dirigible]

Lyr

The Erenlander brushes away an annoying nightfly before he answers, making his dark locks sway.

"I agree with Rhotha'ah. While following the Healer would let us shield him from immediate attack - with our own bodies, I may add - but it would expose us to the ambush of the Hound and his men, letting them choose the time and place of engagement. If we follow the other path, though, we become the hunters, and can assault them when we say it arright."

Lyr stops for a moment, observing his unlikely companions in the starry gloom. Turning his solemn eyes to Aleina, he feels the strange, warm surge seep out of his bones again, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Two to two. It seems you have the deciding vote." He casts a glance sideways. "Unless, that is, the dire wolf wishes to give his opinion?" The comment is directed at Heulwen, the first words Lyr has spoken to her directly. There is no mocking or sarcasm in his tone, but rather a genuine respect and query.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

The dark haired woman remains silent as they halt at this important fork, her eyes seeking each of the companions in turn as they all voice their opinion. At Lyr's dark gaze seems to stir her nerves into phrenetic flame and for a moment she struggles to keep her features composed. It was disturbing, but once again circumstances do not allow her the luxury of introspection. She closes her eyes, cutting off the others, and focuses on what is sure to be a fateful choice.

Heulwen and Dun made sense: it was certain that the Hound (as Lyr named him) would find the healer sooner or later. They simply needed to place themselves between predator and prey. Further, if they managed to overtake the healer before he was accosted they could join forces against the hunter; the scales would tip further in their favor.

Yet Rhotha'ah and Lyr were convincing as well, though she would have expected each argument from the other's mouth. Aleina knew little of warcraft, but waiting to be attacked seemed a weaker position. It is the Dorn's words, though, that echo her own fears. It was possible that the men had simply missed the trail - their eyes were not as sharp as Heulwen's, and maybe with supernatural aid they weren't paying as much attention to the physical evidence.

Possible, but the Hunter hadn't seemed like one to be careless. The power he displayed to pick up the healer's trail seemed limited, else he wouldn't have needed to question them in the first place. It was likely an ability he could only use occaisionally. In that case, he would almost certainly be tracking the same way as Heulwen - relying on his natural ability and not a spell. Her icy eyes open, finding the halfling.

"The healer was not riding: do you see his tracks on either path? Is it possible that he sent the horse off the trail -with it's burden- while he continued straight, in hopes of throwing off pursuit? When you saw the Hound and his men, were they moving quickly? And were they tracking with their eyes or did they seem to know exactly where they were going, without needing to read the signs?"

[Black Plauge]

"You are correct, the healer was not riding," replies Heulwen, "as to his persuers, their leader stopped and seemed to check the trail, but the techniques he used were very strange to me. It could be that he was following something other than what I would."

Bending to check the tracks again, Heulwen looks for signs of the Healer and his horse splitting up (or staying together) and for evidence of the Hound's strange tracking style.

[Cadrius]

Heulwen casts a glance back at the way they had come and frowns. The five pairs of legs, and two pairs of paws did little to help the trail. Rhotha'ah's feet are particularly adept at obliterating tracks. The woods are farther away now, but the halfling's keen ears pick up the haunting call of an owl.

She moves back to the fork and stoops to inspect the western road, the one the horse had traversed. Her eyes flick over it and the grassland on either side of it. She doesn't see remnants of the healer. Dropping to one knee she inhales deeply. Having a nose like Heulwen's can be both a blessing and a curse, but in this case it seems to be the former.

A rush of scents pour through her and she has to concentrate to separate each one out and identify it. First and foremost is the crisp night air, one that hints at a long, cold winter to come. Next are her companions: the dorn smells of leather and oil so much that his own scent is irrevocably mixed with it. Aleina's odor reminds Heulwen of flowers, specifically a purple variety that blooms in mid to late spring. Dun smells of meat and mead, although they're beginning to give way to something else entirely. The scholar, Lyr, smells of something old. It's puzzling to the halfling, as the man clearly looks quite young himself. Yet there's a musky scent that clings to him.

Beyond those traveling with her the odors become harder to differentiate. She smells the horse, picking it apart from the humans easily enough. The dwarf as well she finds and separates. He smells much healthier this time around. Whatever he might be or whomever he might flee from, the healer clearly knows his craft. She also finds the three men who traveled with the Hound, but try as she might she can neither locate the scent of their master nor that of their prey.

She uses her eyes once more, trying to find the tracks of the healer, looking this time to the northern road and once more is disappointed. Try as she might she can't find his particular tracks, not here anyway. She might have better luck further up either road.

The others stand, watching the halfling and feeling each moment slipping away.

[Black Plauge]

Pushing the oddity of the lack of scent from either the healer or the Hound, Heulwen concentrates for a moment on the visible tracks themselves, trying to seperate out the healer's. However, this serves only to further compound her confusion as she still finds no trace of the healer.

The healer is only a man, not a bird, Heulwen thinks to herself, he must leave some sort of track. And this other, who leaves no scent, what of that?

Deciding not to jump to any conclusions, Heulwen turns to the others for a moment, "There is something in the tracks that I need to investigate further. I need you to stay here so that the tracks are as undisturbed as possible. I will be back in a moment."

Turning, Heulwen then slips silently northward, following the trail, but being careful not to disturb it. After a minute or so, she stops to recheck the trail, trying to see if it is any diffrent than what she saw before.

[Dirigible]

Lyr

Fascinated by the diminutive tracker's actions, Lyr almost sets out into the darkness to follow her, but restrains himself in order not to interfere. I wonder if I could learn that...

[Cadrius]

The four remain behind, remaining quiet. There's no reason for it; surely there are no souls within at least a mile, but no words pass their lips. Silence reigns and time passes with it.

She's only gone for minutes, but it feels as if an age passes underneath the cold stars. Yet sure enough the halfling, accompanied by her wogren, reappear later. Her inspection went well and she believes she's located a fainter set of tracks, likely left by the healer. He went north, his horse went west. Both he and the hound have proven difficult to track, but the shadows hide much even to her keen eyes. The light of day might tell a different tale.

Heulwen returns to the group and finds expectant gazes, and all the while, sand slips through the hourglass.

[Black Plauge]

"Your suspicion was right," Heulwen confirms for Aleina, "The healer and his horse split up, though why I cannot say. His patient must have been concious to take the horse, but splitting up only serves to expose the healer. And why would the patient take the healer's horse..."

Putting aside this puzzle for the moment, Heulwen looks to the others, "It seems we head north if we are to try and save the Healer."

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

She waits for Heulwen to return, stock still in the chill air like a mute, frozen statue. Thoughts like predators prowl restlessly in her head, hunting for clues to solve the riddle. When the halfling returns, Aleina watches her intently, listening to her report without expression.

Bitter and without hope, yet still he protects his charge.

At least, that's what she hoped. The healer had been jaded enough that he might be hoping pursuit would follow the obvious trail instead of his own, but she refused to believe that the man she met had so lost sight of his profession.

"Then we go north."

[Cadrius]

North. Many things like in that direction; Baden's Bluff, the Sea of Pelluria, the ancestral homelands of the Dorns, and finally Izrador. And yet they find it better to chase the healer than pursue his charge. They've seen no sign of pursuit of the horse and its rider, the same cannot be said for the healer. So they abandon the dwarf to whatever fate might be in store for him and set off again.

The night is passing into its darkest and quietest part. They move away from the small forest nearby and no longer hear the distant hoot of an owl. No birds sing, no insects chirp; it seems like there is no one else in the world but them.

The trail slides beneath their feet, and the long day begins to wear on them. Each is empowered by the rush of pursuit, but they will be spent by daybreak. Hopefully this will be said and done long before then. And yet it begs the question: what will they do should they catch the hound and his men? Would an important man travel with but three escorts? Would a powerful one need them at all? Will he die like any other man? Or does he have his own tricks, much like they do?

Rhotha'ah and Heulwen happen to be looking up at the sky when out of nowhere a bolt of lightning arcs downward. It's close enough so that it casts a bit of light. They cannot raise their voice to speak to the others before--

BOOM!

--their thoughts are shattered, falling apart like stained glass struck by a stone. It sounds like lightning, the deep, bassy rumble. And yet there are no clouds overhead. Indeed, it would be a strange time to have a storm like that. Still, the dorn and the halfling are both certain they saw the bolt. Judging by the distance between the bolt and thunder it cannot be too far off.

Aashya

For some reason she doesn't build a fire. It's chilly, but there's something in her that warns against it. She isn't certain why. Perhaps it's the fear of attracting bandits, or worse, orcs. The young woman instead eats some of the salted cod given to her by the gnomes.

The thought of them, her saviors and benefactors, brings a smile to her face. It helps stave off the encroaching darkness. The thought of them and her time upon their boat warms her heart even if her skin might be cold. The winter blanket they had gifted her didn't hurt either.

They had been so kind, so understanding in her need to leave the boat when they had mentioned the name of the town. They were worried, they didn't want her to go; she had read it in their eyes and on their faces, but they had done it all the same. With no children of their own, the gnomes are doted upon her as if she was their own. They cared for her as parents might, particularly when she was unwell.

Gylda had been as a sister might too, giving her some of her own bartering goods so that Aashya might be able to trade for what she needed inland. The gallon of ale would be worth quite a bit to the right person, perhaps an inkeep or even an orcish lieutenant should she run afoul of them.

Yet even the love of her gnomish foster family could neither keep away the unpredictable sadness nor the terrifying nightmares. She never understood either. One moment she would be fine, the next melancholic. The dreams were worse. She could not remember details, only fear.

And so she finds herself tonight, having just awoken from another nightmare. One that had her heart pounding and her skin sweating despite the autumnal chill. She draws a shuddering breath and takes comfort in seeing the stars and not whatever lurked in her dreams.

It's late, but she sits up and tucks her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. It usually takes a while to calm down after the nightmares, for her mind to clear and for her pulse to come back down.

She doesn't like the Westlands. If she had the choice she probably would have stayed on the raft with Gylda and the rest, but hearing that word set something off. All she knew was that it was something from before and she had to pursue it. Greenfield. She idly wonders if their customs will be much different from the other towns she had seen along the Eren river. Perhaps it will be a lot like--

BOOM!

Thunder errupts from the sky, causing her to flinch and whip her head about. The sky is still clear of clouds but it sounded as if a bolt of lightning had struck not a mile away. Perhaps its a phenomenon known only to the Westlands, but the gnomes would have warned her of that, wouldn't they?

She'd camped away from the road, not wanting to be spied but turning her eyes toward it she makes out a torch moving in the darkness. She spies a figure or two within the glow, but it's too distant to get a good look.

[Dirigible]

Lyr

At first glance, Lyr a'Corian might seem to be the sort of manw ho would flinch and jump at such a startling manifestation of sound and light. He has the frail and almost effete look of a reader and city-dweller, one who should tremble before the fury of the unbridled weather. Certainly, he is too soft to be a wildlander or ranger like the Dorn or the Halfling, and should be cower under a rock somewhere.

Instead, he merely frowns at the stroke, his lashes meshed and dark eyes squinting against the glare. His features are casting into jagged, monotone relief by the incandesent bolt for a moment. His posture betrays no alarm, though a touch of anxiety that has been present ever since they left town remains.

In the wake of the thunder, his voice is low and very soft, almost like an echo of the stentorian roar rebounding fromt he distant concave hills.

"There are no clouds in the heavens, and no rains to forbode the lightning. Such things as unheralded thunderstrikes are not unheard of, but are rare. And tonight is not the night for coincidences."

He pauses for a moment, considering if his next words will reveal too much.

"Legates have been known to call down the elements of such dire storms with their incantations. As have sorcerors. I think our friend the Healer may be in grave, grave danger... either because the Hound calls down the lightning against him, or because he is forced to resort to it."

The small, dark Erenlander looks around the ill-assorted band of travellers, waiting for their responce even as his feet drift towards the direction of the lightning stroke, indicating his intention of travel.

OOC: How far are we talking, approximatly? Hundreds of meters, a mile? More?

[Kahluah]

Rhotha'ah

As he squints his eyes from the bright flash, he turns to the small Erenlander. "I know little of sorcery, and the only sorceress I know died a week ago, so it would be difficult to consult the crone on such matters."

He looks back in the direction of the lightning and clenches his teeth once more, jaw knotting in its usual stance. "What I do know, though, is that lightning doesn't occur without reason. We must hustle, and now."

And with that, the large man snatches the nearest torch from it's owners grasps and proceeds to take quicker strides to aid his already long step, not caring much for the others' decisions. "If we are to rescue the healer, we cannot not delay with idle discussion."

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

People ..... On the road.

Aashya draws in a startled breath, mouth open in surprise. She has mostly avoided encounters with travellers since leaving the gnomes in Swiftwater, although she can't really say why she's avoided them. Something always holds her back, makes her feel reluctant to let herself be known.

She'd been that way at first with the gnomes, too. Drifiting in and out of consciousness during those first days on their raft, she'd refused to speak or acknowledge their presence, even once she'd realized that they were helping her, and tending her terrible wounds. It had taken a long while to warm up to them, to let herself become a part of their world. Perhaps she never would have come around at all, if not for Gylda. Now there was a girl who knew what it meant to persevere!

Was I crazy to leave them? Aashya wonders, not for the first time. Crazy... Gylda almost said as much when I told her I had to go.

She'd left the same day that she'd heard them mention the name of that town. Nothing had jarred her memory like that before. Hope had bloomed in her suddenly, and the anticipation of joy. She'd felt as if a part of her that was dead or frozen solid had begun to stir again. All at the sound of one word. Even now she could conjure up that feeling just by saying the name out loud. Greenfield.

Crazy or not, and by her own choice, here she is. Where exactly here is, Aashya cannot say for sure. The wilderness is incomprehensible to her - strange animals; unpredictable weather; thick, unyielding vegetation. She'd feared the road and the folk that traversed it, but found herself coming back to it again and again. How else could she keep from wandering in circles?

She keeps her eyes fixed on the glow of torchlight and the figures moving in the distance. Was this what she'd been afraid of? People on the road. She is relatively certain that they are people, not orcs (or worse things). Orcs and their kind don't need torches to see at night. But of course, just because they're not orcs doesn't mean they are friendly. Still, she'd like to know what they are doing. And maybe just listen to them talk for a while.

And then maybe even-

Hold it, she tells herself as she rolls up her blanket and stuffs it into her pack. I'll just see what they are up to, that's all.

Wrapping her dark cloak over her head and around her shoulders, she crouches low. Slowly she begins to creep nearer to the road and a better view of the people there.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

Bombur shies as the tremendous crack of thunder sounds and she is momentarily occupied with settling him down. The activity overshadows any fear or doubt she might have felt. In a sense, healing others was the medicine her own soul required, a balm to drive her own misgivings back to their darkened dens. Lyr and Rhotha'ah once again surprise her by agreeing - she would have thought the two men could not be further apart. Wordlessly, she follows the Dorn, her stride long and purposeful, her face determined.

Lyr's words trouble her, though she would never let the others see it. If the Hound was a legate . . . but no, she did not think that was so. If he'd been one of Izrador's chosen he would have done more than scold them back in town. If the bolt had been magical, odds were it was the healer's work. Yet the hound had shown some strange power of his own; perhaps he had access to some other magic not of the Dark One's doing.

Either way, they might very well be too late.

[Berova]

ooc: have to be a quick post here, I have very temporary access to the net here until tomorrow night when I return home.

Largely agreeing with the others' observations and sentiments, Berova quickly pulls out his short bow and unwraps it. He smoothly strings it and runs off to catchup to his companions.

[Dirigible]

Lyr

Seeing Dun prove his bow for use, Lyr tightens his grip on his sling, reminding himself it is there. A moment later, he scurries after the others.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen
Pursing her lips at the unnatural lightning strike, Heulwen listens to Lyr's 'explination' of the occurance. While he sounds confident in what he says, Heulwen isn't quite ready to jump to the magical conclusion.

The course of action, however, is decided for her before she can voice her opinion when the the other begin to trot towards the disturbance. At first, Heulwen tries to keep up with the humans on the road. Howver, she practically has to run to do so and drops back fairly quickly. Sighing, Heulwen slips into the forest beside the road and begins to parallel it. Pausing only to use the whistle about her neck to call Cytaill to her side, she concentrates on keeping herself hidden and unnoticed as she continues to move forward. If something or someone did cause that lightning strike, perhaps she could catch it by suprise.

[Cadrius]

Heulwen

Cytaill comes willingly enough, watching the halfling with large, flinty eyes. He seems to discern Heulwen's intent quickly. The wogren is clever, far more intelligent than any dog or wolf. He follows her for a few minutes before loping off across the road and onto the plains. She can see him paralleling her movement. Two sets of eyes, particularly sharp ones possessed by Heulwen and Cytaill, are better than one.

Dun, Rhotha'ah, Lyr, Aleina

The large dornish man snatches the torch from Aleina's slender grasp with little more than a thought. The act is forceful, but for all his strength Rhotha'ah doesn't harm the young woman. It's an odd mix of power and gentleness.

There's something reassuring about a weapon that makes a man bolder, more confident. Lyr and Dun are no exception. While it isn't the reassuring weight of steel, the solidness of the bow and the sling make the two feel a bit safer. Armed they might stand a chance against other men. Although the wood will likely do little against any further bolts of lightning.

The four move off, leaving Heulwen to slink through the woods.

Aashya

She edges closer to the road, using the night as cover from any prying eyes. The sarcosan woman creeps through the shadows, but the dark is a chancy ally at best. Still, what chances would they have of spotting her shadow amidst the rolling hills? A forest lays on the far side of the road. She wishes she had camped there instead; it would've provided her with excellent cover.

Aashya moves around the side of a low hill, careful not to go directly over the top and be in plain sight should any eyes be turned toward her. As she draws closer she begins to make out some of the figures moving within the torchlight. They're human, but it's only faintly relieving. Men can commit evil just like orcs.

Four figures move, one much larger than the rest. He's either a dorn or one very large erenlander. A woman follows with a mule in tow. Two men flank her, both dark of hair and slim. They all move with a quick step and from what she can tell, they're heading in the general direction of where the lightning struck.

Aashya takes another step forward in the dark, trying to get closer and see what they carry. When her foot steps upon a stray rock. The stone rolls under her foot and her leg shoots forward. Her arms pinwheel and she finds her balance, but the rock shoots down the hill making several quiet thumps as it skips off earth and grass.

It's a quiet noise and likely one that wouldn't carry more than twenty feet, but Aashya drops into a crouch, leaning against the side of the hill and watching the group in case she was heard. So determined in their walk they were oblivious to her slip.

She catches movement by the near side of the road. She narrows her eyes in the dark and tries to make it out. It travels behind the torchlight and appears to move on all fours. She thinks it might be a large dog of some sort, but why it doesn't move with the others is beyond her. It doesn't appear to have noticed her either.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

She feels unaccountably drawn to the slowly receding circle of torchlight. The four figures move on down the road, and Aashya is left crouching in the dark, following them only with her eyes, and wondering what brings the humans to this place in the middle of the night.

What business could they possibly have? Normal folk don't travel at night. How can they dare to carry a torch, calling attention to their odd behavior? Unless they are agents of the Shadow...

Aashya's heart has been hammering loudly in her ears since her near fall a moment ago. Thoughts of the Dark God and his minions start it drumming even louder and more frantically. I shouldn't be here. If I'm discovered hiding here in the dark........

She huddles closer to the hillside, willing her heartbeat to slow its pace, and trying to figure out what she ought to do.

It would be prudent to just stay where she is until morning. There is no compelling reason to follow the four other than curiosity and her own barely realized desire to find companionship again. Aashya's common sense warns her that following after the strangers would be stupid and reckless. And yet....

The torchlight has moved off into the distance now. It will soon disappear completely and then that will be the end of it.

If I stay back far enough, they won't be aware of me, she thinks, standing again slowly. Even that dog - or whatever it is - that seems to be tailing them won't hear me. Aashya remembers that dogs can hear and smell things that people can't - the raft dogs back on the river often alerted the gnomes to the presence of orc camps on the river banks well before they drew near enough to see them. Hopefully, the creature is just a dog.

I only want to find out what is happening here, what they are doing, she tells herself again. I won't get too close....

Aashya moves cautiously toward the road, careful of her footing in the dark.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

There may well be something about a weapon that makes a man bold. A woman without any weapons must learn to rise above her fear on mental strength alone. It is all she has, and she relies on it as though it is the very air she breathes. When Rhotha'ah seizes her torch, it is with surprising gentleness yet an insistence that will not be denied; the man's raw power seethes beneath the muted gesture. The symbolism of the act is not lost on her; she follows lest she be lost to darkness.

[Berova]

Dun

Following behind, Dun tries his best to keep up with Rhotha'ah though it is readily apparent the large Dorn's steps are no match for the Erenlander's easy stride. He can't help but feel a tenseness that comes with their charge into the unknown, their headlong rush into danger. And yet, their die has been cast.

As they get closer to where they believe is the source of the thunderous noise, Dun uses what cover there may be while he scans the area ahead.

[Kahluah]

Rhotha'ah

As the Dorn makes his way towards the sound of the noise, he reaches behind him and lifts the large sword from it's holster. Uttering a small pseudo-prayer to his ancestors, he prays that they will watch over his new companions as they head into the unknown to battle the Hound and his cadre of muscle.

[Dirigible]

Lyr

Half-jogging to keep out, Lyr utters a soft-voiced complaint at the Dorn's back. "Rhotha'ah, my friend, unless you wish to enter battle without allies on your flanks, I suggest you shorten your stride to match ours." The smaller man's tone is mildly exasperated, and fractionally winded.

[Kahluah]

Rhotha'ah

Rhotha'ah spins around in his tracks, sword loose in his hand but still ready to be used, stopping immediately to let his slower companions catch up. In the chilled air, the Dorn's breath steams and floats away, yet the cold doesn't seem to bother him at all. Once they have gathered about him once more, he sets off again, but slower so they can keep up.

[Cadrius]

Aashya

A slim sarcosan shadow crosses well behind the light of the torch and across the road. By the far side, near the thinning, trees she feels much safer. It isn't thick like a forest, but should those in front turn around she'll have more cover in which to hide.

Stealth be damned, she moves forward. The four people and the wolf had seemed single-minded in their focus, they wouldn't notice a small woman trailing them. They're focused on the danger ahead, and not what might be lurking behind them.

They come to a stop for a moment, and so too does Aashya while the three shorter companions catching up to the larger one. Soon enough though they set off, although at a slightly slower pace. Perhaps the dorn sets too long a stride for the others.

It hasn't rained in a while. She can tell by the dryness of the grass and the loud crack of a twig that she steps upon in the dark. Freezing in place, Aashya eyes lock on the people ahead, but they pay her no heed.

But there's something out here in the dark with her. She can feel it. And it's very, very close.

Dun, Rhotha'ah, Lyr, Aleina

The brief respite allows the erenlanders to catch the dorn before setting a more managable pace. No sign of Heulwen or her wogren, Cytaill, can be seen. Yet her legs are even shorter than their's. It will likely take the young halfling quite some time to reach their goal. Perhaps twice as long as the dorn were he left to his own pace.

They're drawing closer to the sight of the lightning. Perhaps as near as over the next rise...

Heulwen

Tall people are always walking too quickly. They miss all sorts of things in the world around them. Animals, plants, tracks; it's all very easy to miss when you're twice the height of a halfling. And yet Heulwen notices something else altogether while she moves along the side of the road.

Snap.

The sound of a twig breaking underfoot is distinctive and it was not crushed beneath her own. She looks over to Cytaill and sees the wogren crouched, watching down the road, back toward Kingscross. She stops and looks over her shoulder, searching the dark. The wogren isn't growling yet, simply crouching, waiting.

Keen eyes move from shadow to shadow, looking for the noise. Her heart quickens a bit. Her new companions are growing more distant as their damned long legs carry them down the road.

There. She sees it. It's a...woman? A human woman crouched by the side of the road. She'd taken the same route Heulwen had, although she'd been decidedly less stealthy. But that isn't what worries the halfling. It's the larger form, one of a man, that's slowly stealing up behind the woman that sets the halfling's nerves on edge. Starlight glints ever so faintly off the blade of a dirk in his hand. A few more moments and he'll be on her.

OOC: Drop this text at http://www.irony.com/java/mmee
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*END -mqax46

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

She doesn't breathe. That twig-snap sounded about as loud as the thunderclap had earlier, or at least it made the young Sarcosan woman's nerves twitch about as much as the thunderclap had.

The torchlight moves on without a pause, oblivious of the poor attempt at sneaking that is going on behind it. But before Aashya can let her breath out and resume her course, she is overwhelmed by a feeling of being watched.

A shiver, like a cold breath, prickles the back of her neck. She whips her head around, but there's only more darkness behind her. Tree shadows loom; some at the edge of her vision seem to lurch. But it's just so blasted dark - her eyes are playing tricks on her.

It's nothing ....... Just my imagination, she tells herself, mistrusting her own instincts. But all the possibilities are running rampant through her mind now as she strains to see through the palpable black. Wild animals. Bandits. Even ghosts seem like a real threat.

At some point she starts breathing again, but otherwise she stands just like this, turning her head slowly to look around blindly as the minutes tick away.....

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

While she has no way of determining the intentions of the human female, the intentions of the male behind her couldn't be clearer. The naked blade is obviously intended for the back of the woman.

The man could be one of the hound's associates. Who else would be out here, prowling the road at night. But by the same token, why is the woman out here? Who is she, why would she be creeping about without taking precautions to stay hidden and silent?

Her concious mind racing, Heulwen instincts guide her actions. Bow already in hand, it is a simple process for her to draw and fire, which she does without even thinking. As the arrow flys from her bow, her concious mind catches up with her instincs, and Heulwen realizes that her unconcious action might have given away her position and quickly tries to duck out of sight again.

[Cadrius]

Cytaill watches the scene unfold with an impassive stare. After all, what are the lives of two humans to a wogren? The man continues forward, unaware of the halfling and her companion watching. The woman is hunched, blind to all three.

The thrum of the bowstring breaks the silence. Aashya doesn't recognize the sound but her body does and it shouts danger to her. Falling to one knee, the sarcosan instinctively ducks. She feels more than sees the flight of the arrow as it rips through the space her head had occupied but a moment earlier.

The shot had been difficult, but the halfling's arrow is true. A grunt of pain confirms the hit; the arrow has bitten into his shoulder. Yet the man lunges forward. Closing the last few feet with Aashya he makes a wild stab with the dirk. It misses. The wound clearly pains him and the man swaps the blade over to his left hand.

Initiative
Assailant - 20
Aashya - 15
Heulwen - 14
Cytaill - 14

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Before she can truly internalize the fact that someone has shot at her out of the darkness behind her, missed her but hit someone else instead, and is still out there, perhaps nocking another arrow at this very moment, a shadowy figure looms up out of the darkness in front of her and swipes at her with a small but deadly blade.

A sharp cry bursts from her lips, involuntarily: "A-aa!" Aashya throws her hands up in front of her face, cringing in fear.

But then her hands do something surprising. They form themselves into fists without her even thinking about it. Her legs and feet shift under her, causing her crouch to become more balanced, more controlled. Her body tenses, then relaxes, then suddenly springs into action.

She stands, one foot lunging forward, and strikes out with her fist. Now she can see her attacker more clearly; he's switched the knife to the other hand because of the arrow in his shoulder! She changes the trajectory of her blow slightly to aim for his wounded arm....

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

As her arrow flies home, Heulwen first concentrates on hiding herself, and then nocks another one. The two figures are now enganged in combat, however, so she waits to see the results. Casting a sidelong glance at Cytaill, she readies herself to whistle him off should he move to attack before whats happening resolves itself.

[Cadrius]

The move works, if not perfectly, catching the man by surprise. Her fist lashes out, seeking the arrow embedded in his shoulder, but the man favors that arm and shields it with his torso. Her fist lands a glancing blow on his upper stomach and the attacker grunts once more in pain.

Heulwen ducks aside, hiding herself behind a thin birch tree. She peeks around the other side to watch the fight. The woman is unarmed and is at least a foot shorter than her attacker, but the arrow pains him and it shows. Plus she seems to hold her own in the melee, gracefully twisting and dodging the quick thrusts. A glance to Cytaill shows nothing new. The wogren still crouches and watches the fight, but he makes no move to join battle.

The halfling looks back in time to see the woman narrowly avoid the dirk. She sidesteps at the last moment while her arms strike the man's to deflect the blow. She's uncut, but can she keep it up? Wounded or not, the man is no slouch with his knife.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

She feels amazingly calm once she starts to fight back. She falls into a rhythm that is somehow familiar, even though she can't remember how she knows to do what she's doing. She's rusty though, that's obvious.

There's an archer behind me, she reminds herself. It wouldn't be a bad idea to put the knife-wielder between herself and the bowman.

Aashya begins to circle around, faking a stumble to draw her opponent around after her. She recovers her balance quickly, leaning back away from the man while at the same time striking out with her foot at his knee.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

It is obvious that she hasn't been noticed, and her bow is ready in her hand, but Heulwen hesitates. The woman seems to be manouvering to get out of her line of fire, but she still partially blocks the shot. Moving slowly, Heulwen tries to position herself to get a clearer shot, getting closer, but staying hidden.

[Cadrius]

Men often underestimate the fairer sex, particularly when it comes to combat. And why not? They tend to be faster, stronger, tougher, than women, why should they consider them a threat? Especially a sarcosan who doesn't even stand five feet off the ground. This is what Aashya banks on as she feints a stumble past her assailant, but there's a problem in all of this. Her previous attack has tipped her hand and the man isn't fooled.

He sees through the bluff and brings the blade across in a slash at her face. She jerks back, avoiding the blade by scant inches avoiding injury for the third time. She idly wonders how many more times it can happen before a blow will land.

But the move is not without merit as the man now has his back to the archer. He looks painfully aware of the fact and casts a quick glance over his shoulder.

"Bugger this."

The man flips the dirk back to his right hand and pushes past Aashya. She lashes out, her fist seeking his kidney but he wards off the attack with an arm and is soon loping down the road as fast as he can.

Drop this text at http://www.irony.com/java/mmee
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[Kelemyn]

Aashya

A razor sharp blade whistles through the air practically under her nose; it actually clips a lock of Aashya's hair as it passes. Why is she still trying to punch and kick when she ought to be running for her life? I must be mad! she thinks franticly, even as another, alien part of her brain continues to search for an opening in her assailant's defenses.

But the man has evidently taken enough of a beating, and runs away cursing. He disappears into the darkness, and with him goes Aashya's calm assurance and the ability to master her own limbs. Her knees give out and she sits down hard, like a baby that suddenly finds itself walking unassisted when it didn't know it could.

She's lost control of her breathing now too, gasping and taking in great gulps of the cold night air. That knife! It missed me by an inch! If I hadn't been quick enough...... She shudders to think of it, and then can't stop shaking. Everything had happened too fast. First the arrow had come whizzing b--

The archer!

By the Host! She'd forgotten. And here she sits, just off the road, a clear target. Diving for the trees, Aashya scrambles away on all fours, hardly what you'd call gracefully. She crouches behind the first tree she comes to, not even daring to peer out from around its trunk back in the direction from which the arrow had come.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

As the man takes off, seperating himself from the woman, Heulwen lets fly with the arrow she nocked earlier, hoping to bring him down or speed his retreat even more. She then ducks into hiding again, painfully aware that the woman has done the same and may even now be searching her out.

[Cadrius]

There's a calm to be found in archery, even when assaulted on the road in the middle of the night. Knock, draw, release; there's something peaceful in it amidst the danger of the situation. Heulwen's bow thrums once more and a second arrow races through the dark. This time the woman is not in the way to hinder the halfling's shot. Yet the distance is greater than before and even with keen eyes, starlight does not making shooting easy. The arrow grazes the man's already wounded arm and he stumbles before stumbling off again.

Meanwhile, Aashya leaps into the woods. By a stroke of fortune she finds a small cluster of rocks, not a few feet from her tree. It looks perfect for sheltering her from eyes on all but one side. Quiet as a shadow, she covers the two steps between her and it. She nestles between the man-sized stones and grows very still, attempting to become a rock herself.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Nodding in satisfaction as her arrow has its desired effect, Heulwen spares the man only another glance to ensure that he is really leaving before looking for the woman. She, however, has ducked into the trees along side the road and disappeared from sight for the moment. Scanning the area where she last saw the woman, Heulwen searches for a sign but can find nothing. Her nose, however, tells her that the woman is still close by.

Putting her whistle to her lips, Heulwen gives it a light blow, calling Cytaill to her side. When he gets there, she looks to him for direction, knowing that his senses are far better than hers in the dark.

[Cadrius]

Heulwen and Aashya

Cytaill watches the halfling for a moment, studying her, before finally rising from his crouch and padding over to her. His head sweeps back and forth across the road, but it isn't his eyes that are searching. Slowly the wogren moves forward, ears twitching and nose close to the ground, sniffing for a scent. He moves back and forth before pausing and listening intently. Cytaill moves again, searching out the remaining combatant.

He makes no attempt for silence, and the huddled woman can hear what is clearly an animal slowly making its way toward her. It doesn't know where she is yet judging by the vaguely meandering movement, but it's getting closer and if it's a hound it will pick up her scent.

Dun, Rhotha'ah, Lyr, and Aleina

An eternity passes, or so it seems to the four moving through the night. The next rise, the one which looks to promise a revelation to the electric enigma, creeps closer. Only the mule, Bombur, seems unaffected. He plods forward as he always does, heedless of what danger might lie two hundred yards away.

One step, and then another, and the rise gets closer, the ground a little steeper. The four begin to plod like Bombur, slow and steady, finding a goal in reaching the top. The worry of what threats may lurk beyond remain in the background. All they want is to see what happened and what, if anything, still happens.

Perhaps it's not a surprise, given the appearance of lightning out of a clear night sky, but it's still shocking all the same. A distance from the blast small fires burn, casting some light. In from there the ground is black, scorched from the bolt. And at the center is a man, or the remnants of one. The lightning has turned his chest into a smoking ruin, melting flesh where it did not create a hole.

But there are those that still draw breath.

At the edge of the four's vision three men stand, two circle the one. The fires do not illuminate them, but it seems clear who they must be. The Hound has finally caught the Healer, and he has one of his guards with him. The flicker of starlight catches a blade in the guard's hand. If the other two are armed, it is not visible.

The two circle the one in a deadly dance. One played by mountain lions and wolves. It is but a matter of time before they collapse the circle and seize their prey.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

The rocks are cold, but she presses herself up against them, trying to make herself as small and as quiet as possible. She concentrates on breathing slowly, calmly, though it's difficult with her mind racing as it is.

What just happened out there? The people on the road..... The invisible archer..... The man with the knife..... What do they all have to do with each other? And what do they have to do with her?

Not important, Aashya tells herself firmly, shifting her position slightly to draw her knees up under the warmth of her cloak. What IS important: Where are they all now?

Is the archer out there still, waiting for her to make a move? What happened to the man? How will she manage to get away unseen?

While she wonders these things (for the most part futilely), she also listens. A heavy silence seems to lie over the land. There's only the feeble wind rustling the leaves in the trees now and then.

No wait, what was that? It sounds like something moving around. There it is again, she hears it clearly this time: the padded footsteps of some kind of animal. It's getting closer.

It will find me.

She knows it as surely as she knew before that she was not alone in the dark. This time she doesn't doubt her instincts. An animal doesn't need to see her or hear her to find her. Not this close. It will find her. What can she do?

She has a knife. Gylda gave it to her, like she gave her this cloak, and so many other things that Aashya needed for her journey. It's just a utility knife, not really a weapon. But it will have to do. She shifts again, to pull the knife from her pocket; then she takes it from its sheath to hold in unsteady fingers.

And she waits.

[Dirigible]

Lyr

Don't look at it. Don't look at it. Even at this distance, Lyr fancies he can smell the snap-cooked reek of human flesh. It? He feels sick; both from the horror of seeing his first corpse, and from the fact he so easily turned that dead man into an it. He was the enemy. As his gorge begins to rise, Lyr clsoes his eyes for a moment, forcing himself back into calmness. See the Flame, feel its constance, its warmth, its light. Hanging outside of time, feeling the distant throb of Spell Energy within his soul, for a few prescious seconds, Lyr reacheives emotional balance.

He scans what his perceptions had already taken in from the scene before him. So, it was the Healer's sorcery that called the power of the storm. Good. That, at least, meant that the Hound was not a thaumaturgic legate by inclination. Probably.

Ly's dark eyes snap back open, and strain against the darkness. There. The scholar's brow twitches; odd that these hunters would pause so long now that their prey was at hand, rather than making the killing blow. Do they fear that he might call down more lightning? Perhaps they had tried to speak with their prey, to persuaded or threaten him into yielding. So... two of them, at least one a brawler, and the Hound an unknown quantity.

He then glances at his three companions - where did the halfling and her beast get to? Dun bore a thinblade and some kind of flail - hopefully, he knew how to use them. Aleina... well, she could hardly be less able than Lyr himself in battle. The Dorn, with his size, barely-muzzled ferocity and mighty axe would doubtless be a battering ram of death in melee. Would he be able to take on both of the enemy? Well, according the the Venerable Moldura of Highwall, in the Third Age a band of dornish bear-sarkers had successfully engaged with an orcish force three times their number... given that the Hound's minion was unlikely to have the natural qualities of an orc... Lyr supresses a groan as he realises what he's been doing. Foolish, foolish. This is no time for a lecture! They needed a strategy, and fast...

By the time one had come to mind, the other three were already enacting their own plans and intentions.


OOC: Lyr loses his actions in the first round as he struggles to overcome his nausea and hesitates in the face of danger.

[Kahluah]

Rhotha'ah

The Dorn narrows his eyes at the Hound and his now singular guard, muttering a barely contained growl. The scene reminds him of two masked thugs circling the sorceress from his tribe before they cut her down. This time, however, instead of pushing back his rage, he nurtures it, savors it, and drinks from it like a firely ale that fills him with power.

Barely containing the swell of rage within him, Rhotha'ah drives the torch into the wet ground, snuffing the flames out and dropping the four into darkness. Turning his gaze to his companions, he motions them to follow him as best they can to surge forth and attack, before heading down the rise and towards the man, caring little for stealth and silence.

OOC: Taking a double move towards the Hound and the Healer this round. My sword is already drawn, IIRC.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

As Cytaill begins his search, Heulwen slings her bow over her shoulder and draws her sword. Chances were that Cytaill would be too close to the woman for her bow to be effective when he found her.

As she watches, an idea forms in Heulwen's mind. It worked with Aleina...

"A little thanks for saving your life might be in order," she calls out in Erenlander, before silently begining to circle around the woman's last position.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Thanks? .... For saving my life?

Aashya is at first confused by these words, and almost calls back a rebuttal.

"What do you mean 'saving my life'? You almost shot me!"

But then it occurs to her that the person doing the talking is probably using a ploy to try to draw her out. Or distract her from the animal she hears coming closer. Could the animal be the dog she saw earlier? And the archer be the dog's master?

Aashya clamps her jaw shut tight, and grits her teeth. She won't be tricked into giving away her position so easily.

Odd though ....... The quality of the archer's voice is not what she expects. It sounds young.... and female. She's a little less frightened and uncertain as she waits, silent, in the dark.

[Berova]

Dun

At the sight of the charred remains, Dun holds his breath and shakes his head, thinking... "What a way to die." There was not any time for deep thought as danger was present and lurked ahead.

A quick glance at his companions, the Dorn was ready for action, but his fellow Erelander and the woman? He was not so sure... and where did the Halfling go?

Dun concludes, they need to act quickly if they are to have any chance of saving the Healer, although he is unsure the Dorn's chosen method is necessarily the very best. Dun tightens his grip upon his bow and says to Lyr and Aleina as he bounds off after Rhotha'ah, "Be very careful out there."

OOC: Dun will double move towards the three men veering off from Rhotha'ah's path to present more than one avenue/angle of attack. If at all possible, he will try to line up either the guard or the Hound between himself and the Healer (in order to maximize his attack). As he gets closer, he will take advantage of what cover there is available.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

They crest the small rise like bits of flotsam atop a low swell; the scene before them sends a spike of fear into her heart. Bombur's reign drops from her hand, forgotten. Lyr had been correct in his guess - the bolt was magical, though it was the hound's henchman who had suffered. The healer was as powerful as she had guessed though the knowledge brings her no solace. There was death here, it's acrid stench dressed in red flame. But there was a chance for life as well.

Indeed, that was the chance she had hoped for when they set out after the healer. Looking down on the hunted man harried by Izrador's predators, she understands fully what that quest meant. It meant that to save some life she might need to take some other. It is not a choice she wants to make. It is a choice she wants to believe is unnecessary.

There must be a better way.

To each side, Rhotha'ah and Dun melt off, unburdened by her fears or at least content in their own decisions. The energy is there, within her, she can feel it. To call upon it now might be to end the conflict before they become involved. It might save one of their lives. With that thought comes a wave of longing, the pull of a shrouded desire. Her hands involuntarily rise. Nearby, Lyr freezes, caught in his own mental dilemma and seemingly unaware of anything else.

Aleina pauses, unwilling to take the step that will irrevocably announce what she is to everyone here. The magic might save them, but it might damn them as well. Her hands rise a second time and then squeeze into fists as she pushes the urge away. Dun and Rhotha'ah have moved away; perhaps she could end this another way.

One dead and two engaged with the healer. Where is the fourth?

She didn't know, and she didn't have time to find out. Bloodshed was imminent. Casting aside her doubts, she calls down in a ringing voice.

"HOLD! Stand back from the healer and cast your weapons aside! You are but two and badly outnumbered, pitted against forces beyond your power. Do as I say and this can end."

[Berova]

Dun

As Dun makes his way toward the Healer, he cringes when he hears Aleina's voice pierce the darkness. The situation appears to be deteriorating. And yet, did she have any choice if we are to save the Healer?

He does his best to close the distance with the Healer and his foes while maintaining his footing with his superb sense balance. He can only hope Aleina knows what she is doing for the Healer's sake as well as theirs.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Except for the sounds of Cytaill's search only silence answer's Heulwen's call.

Can I be sure she's not hostile?

From her new position, Heulwen tries again, "Had it not been for my arrow you wouldn't have known that man was behind you until he put that dirk in your back. Surely you realize that."

Continuing her circle, Heulwen closes a little on the area where Cytaill seems to be concentrating her search, using her own eyes, ears, and nose to check the area as well.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

She's been holding the knife in her hand, holding it out in something like a warding gesture, holding it ready for the time when the animal finally smells her out and reaches her hiding place.

But now the knife droops in Aashya's hand, almost forgotten. The words coming to her out of the darkness consume her thoughts. How comforting it is to hear this voice, and how tempting it is to believe that the owner of it means her no harm!

She had felt the presence of the man behind her, maybe even sensed his malevolent intent in some way that she didn't really understand. But the voice is right - she had been unable to see him, even though he was practically upon her. If not for that arrow, he might well have taken her completely by surprise. Had the archer truly intended to hit him all along, and had not just missed her and hit him by mistake as she originally thought?

Aashya would like nothing more than to believe this. It would mean that she is much less alone in this world than she believes, much less alone than she feels. To think that someone out there would take a risk to help her.......... No. It can't be. The people of this world are not like that.

But the gnomes had helped her. They had fished her out of the river half-dead, and they took her in when she had nothing, not even a name. There may be others like the gnomes.

But what are the odds of that, really? Wishing won't make it so. And calling out will only bring the unknown upon her sooner. She waits.

[Cadrius]

Aashya and Heulwen

Heulwen speaks and then tries to slip further into the woods, to provide her better cover. She can't find a distinct scent, the assailtant's thick odor blankets most of the surrounding area. The woman couldn't have gone far, not without a good deal of stealth. Craning her neck Heulwen cringes as her foot scuffs a pile of old, dead leaves, giving away her position.

Cytaill continues his move forward, head swiveling back and forth. His ears twitch, catching each and every sound. And Aashya can hear the animal's approach, closer and closer, until she feels he must be on top of the rock by her head.

Afraid of what she might see, Aashya silently turns and looks on the rock. Two large eyes stare into her's, and a furry hound-like face regards her. Yet it's the eyes that capture her attention in the dim light. They're dark, deep, and a faint glint suggests this beast is considering her. He sniffs at her once, the snout but a foot from her face. Slowly but surely he leans forward, placing one paw before the other, maitaining balance on the stone.
He halts, an inch or two from her own face and sniffs her again.

Dun, Rhotha'ah, Lyr, Aleina

There is a power in words. One man can sway a thousand if he knows what to say and how to say it. The trick is learning what the listeners want to hear. Draw them slowly into your grasp and then guide them to where you want them to go.

Aleina's words ring out over the low valley, and the two men circling the healer pause briefly to look at the woman on the hillside. Her heart pounds under their gaze. Outnumbered or not, one of her companions could easily die, perhaps even her. And that's where she falters. She doesn't truly believe her words. Neither the Hound nor his servant are swayed.

"Little girl," the Hound says, his soft voice easily floating across the long distance, "I thought I told you not to interfere? Edrick. Take care of them."

The guard, who could only be Edrick, steps forward. A short blade is indeed in his left hand. His right holds a spear, its head made of a black metal or stone. He grins at the dorn's approach and hefts his spear once, readying to strike.

"I'll enjoy guttin' you, boy."

Rhotha'ah focuses on the enemy at hand, and not the horrid stench of burning flesh behind him. He had to pass right by it and even his strong stomach quailed at the olefactory horror.

Meanwhile Lyr's head swims while his mind tries to regain control. The stench, even a hundred feet off, is gut-wrenching. He grasps for a plan, but he's wasted too much time trying to avoid losing his dinner on Bombur.

The Hound returns his attention to the Healer, glowering at the man.

"I thought I told you, Lucien, you would not escape me again. Did you really think he...I would let you get away? Come. Be a good boy and walk with me before any one else is slain."

The healer, looking nervous, clutches an unadorned walking stick in front of him, more out of fear than defense.

"I...I..."

Initiative
Lyr - 17
Dun - 10
Rhotha'ah - 8
Aleina - 2



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[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Like a bird transfixed by the approaching snake, Aashya stares at the dark form that almost seems to float before her eyes.

It- it is a dog. A huge dog. Nothing at all like the watch dogs kept by the gnomes. Well, at least its head is huge; that is the only part of the animal that Aashya can see from here. She could probably fit her whole head inside its mouth, judging by the size of the shaggy muzzle that fills her vision.

It stretches its neck toward her, moving even closer to sniff her again. Whiskers like bristles brush her quivering cheek. That breaks the spell. Aashya leaps back away from the dog and her stone hiding place, forgetting the archer for the moment. Surprisingly, the beast holds its position even as she takes a few cautious steps back.

"Stay!" She tries to command it, but ends up pleading instead. "Stay? ... Nice dog. Stay back. I- I don't want to hurt you." Her knife glints dully in the starlight as she waves it in the air in front of her. But she's painfully aware that the small blade won't really do her much good if the animal decides to attack.

[Berova]

Dun

Dun gulps down whatever was in his dry mouth at the time, the situation is turning deadly serious by the second. It was something like what they had expected but had hoped against. The Erelander winces as he imagines the coming clash between the large Dorn and the Hound's man. Who will remain standing, it was anyone's guess. "Must stay focused...", he reminds himself, "We must try to save the old man ... while avoid getting killed." He redoubles his efforts to close the range so he may be of some help.

"Where is that Lyr?" Dun asks as he suddenly realize they no longer 'out-number' them as she just threatened. Shaking his head in anger, he moves into position to let loose a deadly volley.

OOC: Dun moves closer, timing his bow shot at Edrick just as Rhotha'ah's light illuminates the guard for a clear shot. By my calculations, Dun should be within 60' from Edrick since Dun will have moved 60'+30' while Edrick has moved up as well (150-60-30-?=). [+3 shortbow, 1d6 assuming range >30' and +4 shortbow, 1d6+1 <=30']

[Kahluah]

Rhotha'ah

Putting the acrid stench of burning flesh behind him, Rhotha'ah fixes his gaze on the advancing Edrick. The Dorn opens the floodgates of his pent up rage, allowing the white hot rivers of emotion flood through his being and wash over his barbarian soul. Roaring loudly in defiance, he allows long and muscled legs carry him easily towards his quarry, sword flashing in the torchlight as he brings it to bear against the man.

OOC: This is assuming I'm 40' away from Edrick. Rhotha'ah will activate his Rage ability (giving him a Str of 22, Con of 18, Will save of +3, and an AC of 14), and move 40' before attacking.

This is assuming I'm 80' away from Edrick. Rhotha'ah will enact a charge against the man and attack, using the charge to bring him the 80 feet to be able to do so. No Rage just yet.

[Dirigible]

Lyr

"Oh... dear." Lyr's tone infuses the mildest of oaths with the kind of frustration that would have earned a salty curse from Dun or an obscure threat of dismemberment from Rhotha'ah. He glances at Aleina, a touch of admiration in his eyes for her brave attempt at negotiation in the face of danger.

Starting to spin his sling to build momentum for the shot, Lyr half-jogs, half-stumbles down the slope in the opposite direction from Dun, eyes straining in the dark to see either of the two evil men.


OOC: Lyr hustles down the right (as viewed on the map) flank.
Balance +2, Ref save +3 in case of tripping or slipping.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Noting the Cytaill has found the woman, and that she did not immediately attack, Heulwen forgos any further attempt at stealth and steps out into the open.

"I would put that away if I were you," she says, gesturing to the woman's knife, "Cytaill won't harm you unless you attack him or me."

Blowing on the whistle around her neck, Heulwen calls Cytaill to her side and rests the point of her short sword on the ground.

"The woods are no place for a young girl at night. You may be capable in combat or just lucky, but that man certianly could have killed you. What brings you out into the dark of night?"

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Maybe the dog isn't as large as she thought at first. It doesn't look quite so menacing now that she's taken a few steps back. She relaxes just a little, becoming curious about the animal. What kind of dog is this anyway?

At almost the same moment that she realizes she's out in the open again, movement a few yards away - a ripple of dark against dark - catches her eye, and she's back on her guard. She squints trying to make out a shape in the darkness. Certainly it is humanoid, but very slight.

The light, female voice again - it suggests that she put away her knife. Aashya lets the knife in her hand fall to her side. She's more confused than afraid now, but still wary.

"You're the one who tried to shoot me," she says, not accusing, just matter-of-factly. "Or was it the man you were aiming at? Who was he?" Who are you? is what I should be asking.......

"Why don't you come closer so I can see you." Aashya takes a hesitant step forward herself, but eyes the dog nervously as she does so.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

The words ring false even in her own ears, and it is clear from the reactions below that she has failed -yet again- to impress the Hound. For the first time today, a dull ember of anger pulses in her belly, it's warmth pushing back the chilling fear. Despite her lack of any weapon, she nevertheless follows Lyr's lead as he moves down the slope.

<OOC: Double move to stay next to Lyr.>

[Cadrius]

Lyr and Aleina

He moves down the hill easily, surprisingly so considering his still-reeling stomach. Rhotha'ah is charging a man that looks to be holding a spear. The two meet with a clash of weapons. Ten, maybe twenty, feet behind the two warriors are the figures of the Hound and Healer, but they aren't easily discerned in the shadows.

Behind he can hear Aleina's footsteps as she keeps pace with him. Bombur, holding perhaps more sense than the rest, remains behind at the top of the hill.

Dun

He threads his way as best he can, stumbling twice while moving laterally along the slope. Still he finds a better position and stands still. A slight creak is the only sound made by the arrow being drawn to his cheek. He sees the dorn charge a blade-wielding shadow moving through the near-darkness. Edrick is an easier mark, however. The small fires from the lightning and a discarded torch shed more light on the man than any other in the valley. Dun releases the arrow, trying to time the flight before the dorn engages the man.

The arrow speeds through the night, flashing past Rhotha'ah, but it goes wide from Edrick. Despite the presence of light, the shot is simply too difficult.

Rhotha'ah

Rage can be a boon and a bane. Any dorn who's felt the tug of battle-lust can tell you this. Once the bloodfury is upon you, there's nothing in the world but you and the man you're fighting. All the aches and cuts vanish, and nothing remains but the opponent and your weapons. If he dies, you move onto the next, and then the next, and then the next until there's none left that can stand before your wrath.

Rhotha'ah feels something of this now. An arrow flashes past him, but he barely notices.

The fury sweeps over him easily enough and he barrels forward blade raised high and torch in hand. He swings the blade diagonally, aiming a long slash along the man's midsection. Yet Edrick is no green warrior, and he makes a quickside step, slashing at Rhotha'ah's swordhand before making a stab with his spear. Yet the dorn is battle savvy enough to dance backward a pace, deflecting the thrust with his blade.

The Healer and the Hound

"Come, Lucien, is that what you've been reduced to? Stammering like an idiot? Your time with these...vermin have addled your wits."

The Hound folds his arms over his chest, ignoring the arrow and the duel errupting a few scant feet away. He frowns.

"I've run out of patience, I'm afraid. You will come with me, now."

The Healer stumbles forward a step, almost involuntarily, before regaining his balance. His fingers grip the staff tightly and he shakes his head once.

"You will come, whether you will it or no."

He flings the jet cloak back from his shoulders and begins to chant in a deep, booming voice. Arms strech in front of him, raised above his prey. The Healer does nothing but grip the staff harder and closes his eyes.

"Coercere mens sequi!"

The staff falls to the ground with a dull thump.

Heulwen and Aashya

At the sound of the whistle Cytaill turns his head to look at Heulwen. The wogren watches her for a moment, studying her, before turning his head back to Aashya. He sniffs her once more before hoping down from the rocks. Instead of sitting by the halfling's side, he pads a few feet and stops, seating himself between Heulwen and Aashya.

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[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Slightly frustrated that Cytaill doesn't do exactly what she wanted, Heulwen makes yet another mental note to spend some time training with him.

What he does, however, is good enough for her purposes, and Heulwen lets the whistle drop.

"I most certianly hit who I was aiming for. Even if your human eyes have trouble in the dark, I am not so hindered. As for who he was, I suspect he was one of the group my companions and I were chasing. I can think of no others that would be out here at night. Which brings me back to my question. Why is a young girl like yourself out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night? Who are you that you take such chances with your life?"

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

"As for who he was, I suspect he was one of the group my companions and I were chasing."

Her companions - they must be the people on the road with the torch. Where have they gotten to now? Aashya wonders, glancing around uncertainly. They were out chasing someone; or rather, chasing another group of people. She can't even imagine what is going on here. She realizes with a sick feeling that she might be speaking with a legate, or some other servant of the Dark God. Instinct tells her she's probably better off not knowing what's going on.

She lowers her gaze, almost unconsciously stooping her shoulders as she does so, and adopts an inoffensive tone of voice.

"I'm just a traveller," she answers the archer. "I was camped off the road and I saw the torchlight. I- I was curious, that's all."

Why did she say that about my 'human eyes'? If she's not human, what is she?

[Berova]

Dun

Dun continues to move laterally along the slope, looking for an opening and a better shot at Edrick. He stays on the edges of Rhotha'ah's torchlight and will take another shot at Edrick at first opportunity. Hopefully, between them, the Dorn and he will be able to take the guard out.

OOC: Dun will move along the slope unless he needs to move a bit down in order to get within 30' or point black range from Edrick. (assuming he get's within 30') [+4 shortbow, 1d6+1]

[Dirigible]

Lyr

Scrambling down the slope, Lyr pauses, looking out into the shallow valley. Still too far, too dark to sling a bullet. He starts moving again, keeps jogging and leaping downwards.

Calling quietly back over his shoulder, he says "Aleina... if you have no weapon, it might be best if you stood back... I don't wish any hostile attention my attack may bring to fall on you, as well."

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

The girls change in tone and posture are clear and familiar to the halfling. They reminder her of her daily life before her escape. The fear of the orcs; the uncertianty of their reactions; the need to please without wanting to or quite knowing how...

Shaking her head clear of her memories, Heulwen adopts a gentler tone of voice, trying her best to sound like her mother, "Curiosity is nothing to be ashamed of."

Sheething her sword, Heulwen points to the woman's dagger with her now empty hand, "You can put that away, I intend you no harm. My name is Heulwen, and this is Cytaill. What's yours, and why is a young girl such as yourself travelling all alone?"

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Heulwen's gentle words fall like soft rain on Aashya's parched and lonely spirit. How many days has it been now since she heard a friendly voice?

"I'm not ashamed of being curious," she says simply, looking up with head slightly tilted. She walks slowly forward, keeping her eyes on the slight figure still hidden in the darkness ahead. As she moves closer the figure resolves itself into that of a... child? No. Aashya might have mistaken it for a child if she hadn't heard the voice first. The figure is not a gnome either, although the size is nearly right.

A halfling, Aashya finally decides, surprised. But halflings are slaves. Everyone knows this. Right? She can't actually recall ever having seen a halfing before, but she must have at some time in her life. This one however is obviously not a slave. She doesn't speak like a slave, for one thing. And Aashya knows that a slave would never be armed with a bow and a sword. An image comes to her mind out of distant legend: half-sized men and women roaming the plains with their animal companions. She looks back over at the 'dog' with sudden interest. A wogren!

Aashya sheaths her knife and returns it to her pocket. "I'm called Aashya." She pauses to consider Heulwen's question - asked for the third time now! -and how to answer. There's so much she doesn't know herself. It's just a feeling that drives her, something in the back of her mind, a half-thought. That feeling, and the hope of finding her own answers, has set her feet on the road.

"I have to get to Greenfield," she answers finally, resolutely. "And I'm alone because... because... well, there's only me."

She looks away, her thoughts going back to Swiftwater and her sudden decision to strike out on her own. All this because of a vague feeling. Gylda had warned her that it would be dangerous. Still, Aashya had been compelled to go. "I couldn't ask any of the gnomes to leave the river and come with me......" she continues softly, more to herself now than to Heulwen.

It does no good to look back. What's behind is behind; she can only go forward. And things have not turned out badly so far, in spite of being shot at and nearly knifed in the back! A small smile lifts the corners of her mouth. The night is cold but suddenly she feels warm, warmer than she has in days.

"I don't seem that young, do I?" she asks Heulwen with a slight laugh. "You can't be too many years older than me, and you're out alone. No wait. You said you have companions. Where have they gone?"

[Kahluah]

Rhotha'ah

Despite his bulk and reckless attack, his footwork is light as he dances in and out of the way of his opponent's blade, following Edrick's movements across the battle field. Even though it is only a matter of time before the blade lands across his flesh, Rhotha'ah continues to press his attack on the man swinging the blade in deadly arcs, oblivious to the conflicts occuring elsewhere.

OOC: Continuing to attack Edrick, and will use my move action to follow him if he moves away.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Echoing Aashya's slight laugh with a small chortle of her own, Heulwen replies, "I suppose not. I guess I feel much older than I actually am. The product of a hard and miserable existance for most of my days."

"As for my companions, they went ahead to check the site of that lightening strike. One of them suspected that the unusual occurance could be the doing of the men we are chasing," shrugging her shoulders, Heulwen's body language indicates that she doesn't give much credence to this theory.

"I could not keep up with their longer legs, and it seems that for you, it was a good thing that I couldn't. Come, they should be at the site by now and so won't be moving much further at the moment. We should catch up to them. Your assailant could come back, and, if he is who I think he is, when he does he'll have a friend or two with him."

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

The wind whispers through a forest gone black, past halfling, wogren and human, to break free with a diaphanous sigh that kisses the fletching on an arrow full drawn, the archer dangerously poised. It slithers restlessly, stirring the raven hair of a slight pair of erenlanders, as alike as they are different - spun, perhaps, with the same fabric but of drastically different weaves. The breeze buckles past a giant of a man engaged in hot combat with an enemy near equal to his fury, and then wends slowly forward to embrace a third pair. These two strive so desparately against one another that the aura is a palpable, living thing, charged with the savory scent of triumph and the acrid aroma of loss.

if you have no weapon

Aleina's ice white eyes take these two in and she unconsciously heeds Lyr's words as her feet stop moving of their own accord. The shrieking sound of steel on steel is swept into the background by the mystic words that thrum from the hound's maw. The stunted sound of Lucien's staff striking the sward echoes through her soul. The wisp of wind shifts, arcing back and billowing through her cloak as she raises her arms, suddenly swept into action. Her own voice rises like a sudden storm and this time it is not the uncertain sound of a frightened fawn, but the bare power of nature's fury.

"Il arranan ghelud!"

<OOC: Cast Entangle, on the Healer/Hound centered far enough south of them that it doesn't get Rhotha'ah or Edrick.>

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Ah, the lightning strike.

Perhaps it hadn't been a natural phenomenon afterall. Aashya had nearly forgotten about it, with everything that had happened since. It is frightening to think that these men that Heulwen talks about might have that kind of power.

Aashya longs for morning and an end to straining her eyes to see in the dark. Heulwen's steps are sure as she heads for the rise; Aashya has to go carefully to avoid tripping over treeroots or twisting her ankle in a sudden hollow. She looks back over her shoulder often, imagining the swift pang of a steel blade between her ribs. She hopes that the man who assailed her earlier is far away by now, and uninterested in trying his luck again.

What lies ahead? What will Heulwen's companions be like? The silence is heavy, the only sound her own fumbling steps as they trudge along in the dark. Aashya holds her questions, unwilling to voice her uncertainty.

It will be all right.....

[Cadrius]

Lyr

Hustling forward, he passes into the area dimly lit by the grass fires and discarded torch. Both targets are engaged, but he could attempt a shot with his sling. The stone bullet feels small, almost worthless in his hand, and yet it might just make a difference.

Dun

Damn!

The light mixed with swordplay is making a rather average shot into a tremendous hassle. Hoping that closer range will prove more useful, Dun crosses diagonally down the slope. Stopping he draws another arrow from his quiver and fires again. The thrum of the bowstring snapping back heralds the flight of the arrow.

Damn!

Missed again. The dorn's large frame is not helping matters.

Rhotha'ah

He redoubles his efforts, a small part of him knowing the battlelust will only last briefly. He hammers down blows upon his foe, hacking and slashing. Edrick shifts and parries, but leaves himself open. Seizing his chance the dorn makes a quick swipe at the man's stomach. The sword rips through the thick overcoat and scrapes against metal.

In the dim light, Rhotha'ah can see the glint of small metal links of chain. The man grins and launches his own assault, side-stepping to try and hit the dorn's swordarm. Yet Rhotha'ah manages to fend off the blows with a combination of parries, blocks, and luck.

The Healer and The Hound

"Oh, bloody..."

The normally plain underbrush erupts beneath their feet, grasses coiling about their legs. The currently vapid Healer stands, slack-jawed, content to be enveloped by the wild vegetation. The Hound does not accept it so easily. Twisting his feet, he dances out of their grasp.

Ensnarement briefly avoided, his gaze snaps up, fixating on Aleina. The faintest hint of a smile brushes his face.

"Arundo acere avolare!"

A flash of green, almost too fast to follow, flies from the Hound's hand and rockets toward Aleina.

Aleina

Her victory is short-lived. She feels the rush of success, in wielding her power despite the danger. The grasses spring to life by her call and then begin to wrap around the feet and calves of the two men.

And then things stop going as planned.

The Healer is thoroughly caught, the plants wrapping around up to his waist. Yet the Hound proves more nimble. He dances out of the grasp of her enchantment and then launches one of his own.

She has just enough sense to throw herself to the ground. Her body doesn't know what the green thing is, but it knows it'll hurt if it touches her. Aleina hits the side of the hill, getting a face full of grass and dirt, but she hears the green bolt collide into the hill behind her.

Scrambling to her knees she looks over her shoulder. A melted patch of grass and hill sits where the bolt struck.

Drop this text at http://www.irony.com/java/mmee
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*END w4afjt

[Kahluah]

Rhotha'ah

Seeing the links of chain under the waistcoat, the large Dorn roars more, the rage empowering him to change his tactics a little. Disregarding all safety for himself, Rhotha'ah steps right into the face of the man in front of him and quickly slams a meaty palm at the man's chest while standing on his foot, pushing the man with as much force as his rage will allow him.

OOC: Attempting to trip Edrick this round

[Dirigible]

Lyr

It is dawn in the darkness.

Lyr almost stops, immobilised by disbelief as he feels it rise behind him. Phoenix feathers of sensation, searing hot and zephyr-soft at once, stroke across his back as the very metaphyisical landscape warps.

It is spring after the thousand-years of winter.

He looks, not with his eyes but with his inner sight, knowing the soul of the incantion better than he knows his own flesh and blood. Thye are temporary, ephemeral in their corporeality; He is the Magic, the Magic is Aryth, Aryth is the Him.

"'Il arranan...'"

Lyr knows the words, knows the spell. His fingers weave the same gestures as Aleina's, a hundred feet behind him. Ivo, the twist of the index finger into a semi-circle towards the right, a foundational form; empin, the bending back of the ring finger so that its tip is paralell with the first knuckle of the middle finger; loraa, the turning at the wrist of the hand palm-upwards as the fingers open, symbolic of the manumission of the spell; fuorn, the sealing motion of the flattened hand from vertical to a smooth horizontal.

"'...ghelud!'"

But it is no good. He could shout the incantation, beg and berate and rave against the impersonal forces of illimited power that govern Magic, make the signs with the force his Dornish ally wields his sword, but it would do no good. There is a barrier, uncircumventable, unbreachable, that seals him forever from the uttermost completetion of his life. From the Magic he yearns though every fibre and in every catacomb of the soul to wield himself. No avail. No appeasement. No appeal.

It is birth itself; and Lyr a'Corian is stillborn.

But yet, he tries.

The crystal-eyed Aleina calls forth her sorcery, using powers born of instinct, training and the self-certain force of her own will, inclination and emotions, expressing her desires in a plea the world itself cannot deny. As the plants flourish, twisted into grabbing, clawing living hands, Lyr stifles a groan. His own soul, a raging torrent of fire and light stronger by a small fraction than Aleina's own, leaps, raging against his skin with the force of a caged demon, howling for relase.

But there is no bridge. No vent. No outlet for that power to take form and flow into the channeler who can wield it. So Lyr stands, hands and lips lovingly crafting a hollow mimicry of the spell, lost for long instants in loss and pain and envy and shame.

Impotent.

The hurricane of energy within him, striving for release, cannot wield the stronger tool of his magic to bring about its effect on the material world. Instead, it turns to the weaker tool : Lyr's body.

His head snaps up. Where his dark eyes once held gentle melancholy, they are now home only to the white-hot rage of the spoiled child, deprived of a favoured poppet. His slim fingers clench, nails cutting into flesh as he snarls in deep roar that will leave his throat raw on the morrow:

"Hound! You, heeling dog of the Night King! Face me!"

Lyr's arm begins to whip around, faster and faster and faster. His breath comes in broken snaps, ignoring the pain of thin muscles forced by rage to exert more force than they can bare. He releases the sling; the bullet lashes through the air, the smallest marker of a great fury.

[Berova]

Dun

The woman's an enchantress! And the Hound ... far worse, a legate! Dun calms himself, focusing on the immediate task at hand.

Bound and determined, Dun makes his way down the slope to try to get a clear shot at Edrick.

OOC: Move toward the center parallel with Rhotha'ah, Edrick, and Lyr to get a less obstructed shot at the guard. And shoot!

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

For a brief moment she trancends her body, invisibly linked to the tendrils of latent magic that connect her to the ground, the sky, and the spirits beyond. The magic does not flow from her; instead she becomes part of the intagible web as it pulses with the power of her will, feeding insatiably on her essence. Aleina knows better than to relax and give in to the heady feeling of power; the magic would drain her dry, leave her body a lifeless shell. Instead, she rations her strength, allowing it to trickle out as though it were her life blood. And in a very real sense, it is.

The feeling is indescribable - a mix of exhiliration and fear, power and loathing, strength and vulnerability. She had never used the magic in this way before and she feels an incredible surge of sickening strength. The world stops as the grasses begin to rise, twining about the two engaged in such vile opposition. The enormity of what she has just done slams into her like the crush of an avalanche, the echoes of it's fury ringing through her mind.

Healing. That was her skill; the ability to save lives, to care for the wounded. Not this. Not war and death. Even as the weight of helplessness lifts, an even heavier onus settles on her shoulders. It is innocence lost. A part of her wants to drop to her knees and sob, or scream defiance, or run and hide. If she let the world steal her conviction a piece at a time, would she end up as bitter and jaded as the man she had come here to save? To take life, to injure instead of heal: it was the antithesis of all she believed in.

Dully, she can feel the web pulse as the Hound stabs back at her with malicious intent. That part of her that was once unsullied wants to simply stand fast and reap the reward for the evil she has just done, to seek the solace waiting in the shadow of death. But that part is no longer pure, stained as it is with blood as yet unspilt. Her body makes the decision for her, reacting without consulting the warring factions of her mind. Before she knows it her knees scrape the ground and her mouth is full of frozen dirt, the world reeling into action with jarring force, the Hound's deadly missile burying itself into the space she had occupied only and instant previous.

Lyr's raw shout of fury bring her heart into her mouth, tears of pain and anger starting in her eyes. Her warring emotions disappear like shreds of fog before a gale. She would not let him die for her. Scrambling to her feet, she runs awkwardly down the hill to his side, dirt smeared across her beautiful face, grass stains on her fine clothes.

<OOC: Double move to Lyr.>

[Cadrius]

Lyr

Quick as any arrow, the bullet slices its way through the air. Lyr propels it with an uncharacteristic rage. Yet something has awakened within him, something older and more powerful than the quite, young man. His arm already hurts, not even a moment after releasing the bullet. In the morning he'll pay for asking so much of it, provided he lives the night.

So angry and so reckless, the shot goes wide, but only by a little. And if he had done nothing else, Lyr would've obtained the Hound's attention. Yet the words, a shout so powerful he almost goes hoarse from it, cut through the night.

At this distance he can see the man's face and the reaction to the words. For the briefest moment, Lyr sees a perplexed look flash across the Hound's features, but it is quickly replaced with his typically cool features.

Dun

Patience, Dun counsels himself, or you'll keep missing.

He moves along, mindful of the arcane exchange between the Hound and Aleina. That last thing he wants is to get caught unaware by one of those green bolts.

One step, and then another, and then another; Dun moves along, angling for another shot, a better shot. Picking his spot, the young man takes as much time as he can lining up a shot.

Wait for it...fly!

The arrow slices through the short distance between Dun and his mark. This time his aim is better, truer, but it doesn't stick. It skips off the side of the man's armor. And for a brief moment, Dun and Edrick lock eyes. He scowls, the man probably hates archers.

Rhotha'ah

A shot by Dun distracts Edrick for a moment, which is all the dorn needs. Moving almost too quick, Rhotha'ah pivots around to the man's side and plants one thick leg behind Edrick's. The dorn shoves hard with his shield arm and dumps the man on the ground.

He feels something cold on him and looks down to see Edrick's spear point emerging from Rhotha'ah's body. It's covered in red.

The Healer and The Hound

"Why am I plagued by children?"

The Hound, still artfully dodging the writhing grass, casts a bitter glance at Edrick. His lips twist into a frown and he reaches into his pocket. His hand emerges with a small black stone, likely onyx.

"Come, Edrick!" The Hound weaves his way out of the vines and places his hand on the man's shoulder. He pauses just long enough to give his assailants a baleful glance.

"This is far from over." He squeezes the onxy in his palm until his knuckles turn white and a dark liquid drips onto the ground.

"Movere brevis abigere!"

There's a soft popping nose and the sound of air rushing to fill space. Edrick and the Hound are gone.

[Dirigible]

Lyr

It's over. Is it over?

Where there was rage a moment ago, is a dizzying wave of emptiness. Fire turns to hollow, cold vacuum, an internal mirror of the dark night above. Wind stirs, tumbling down the dark hillside, hiding the sound of the five humans breathing.

Lyr lets his aching arm drop to his side, unthinkingly reaching up to squeeze the elbow. The sling leather hangs limply between his fingers, and his darks eyes float, immersed in thought, on the space where the dangerous Hound was until a moment ago. That was a powerful spell... more powerful than any I have heard of. To take two men and send them elsewhere... this Hound has darker and mightier masters than we know. Still staring sightlessly ahead, Lyr adjusts his clothing, pulling the shirt closer about himself; he feels unaccountably cold.

His mind returns to the moment. He turns, sees Aleina scrambling down the hill, her eyes too searching over the suddenly empty night. He hesitates a moment, struck by the fine lines of her face, accentuated, not marred, by the scuffing and smear of dirt. In her pale eyes is something he has never seen before, a passionate certainty that has washed away the mask of calm and control that once resided there. It suits her.

He sees Dun, slowly lowering his bow, squinting into the night with mingled suspicion and relief. He sees the Healer, dazed and standing amongst tendrils of grass that crawl over him like an imbecile. He sees Rhotha'ah...

Bleeding. Clutching at the spear through his guts, scowling.

"Oh no..." Lyr murmurs. Then, out loud: "Dun! See to the Healer! We may need his skills immediatly!" Quickly, he rushes over to the barbarian's side, slowing as he enters to within a few paces of the big Dorn. They say that when the battle-frenzy takes them, sometimes they cannot distinguish friend from foe... Lyr eyes the huge sword uneasily.

"Rhoth?" Lyr asks hesitantly, doing his best to look harmless. Luckily, it comes naturally. "Is it... ahhh... is your wound grevious? Perhaps you should lie down?" He tries to get close enough to examine the wound.

[Kahluah]

Rhotha'ah

The satisfaction of shoving the man is shortlived as both he and their real adversary disappear without a trace. As the battlerage the Dornish people seem to be famous for wears off, the pain starts. First the aches in his shoulders, jaw, and legs as the lactic acids course through them, fatiguing the large man.

Then there is the spear protruding from his side. The sharpness of the blade in him contrasts with the dull throbbing ache of his muscles. He roars as he tears the point out, coating his hand in slick red fluids as he presses against it to staunch the bleeding.

"Rhoth?"

His vision slowly widening, he sees the small Erenlander approaching him cautiously. The barbarian grins, albeit weakly, as he slowly stumbles to the nearest tree to let the Erenlander take a look at the wound, the bough creaking as it takes his full weight. He sword in his hands too heavy to carry, Rhotha'ah drops it to the ground, leaving the blade gleaming in the moonlight.

"The wound is fine. Just so very tired." He says, yawning broadly.

[Dirigible]

Lyr

Lyr takes a quick back-step as the warrior slumps to the ground. He winces and pales as he sees the terrible ripped hole in the man's scarred, boros-hide-thick skin where the jagged spear was removed.

"...it might have been better if you hadn't done that..." the small man mumbles meekly, looking faintly green around the mouth for the second time in as many minutes as he kneels next to his large friend. Human blood smells... different... than I would have thought...

"Rest, Rhotha'ah. You fought bravely... I'll see what I can do about this." Lyr's hands shake slightly with nausea from the presense of a fresh wound, tiredness from the unfamiliar exertion of wielding his sling with such ferocity and the emptiness that came in the wake of his anger. So... that must have been magic. Real magic. A thrill runs down his spine. Aleina. She is a sorceress. That must be what I feel from her...

Trying to concentrate, Lyr checks the Dorn's wound for dirt, shards of the weapon or poison, then sets about cleaning it. I'll probably need bandages...


OOC: Heal +5

[Berova]

Dun

Dun exhales in welcomed relief that it is finally over, mixed with disbelief about all that transpired in those few instances that seemed several lifetimes.

Seeing is believing or is it?

His bow now dangles from his hand, barely holding on. Surprised by his fellow Erenlander's sudden brazen action, amazed by the Dorn's prowess, shocked by the woman's hidden abilities, and stunned by the Hound's dark powers, Dun's mind and world is spinning, has spun far out of control.

They were far outclassed.

Hearing Lyr's loud shout, Dun broke out of his revelry. His hand grips his bow tightly once more before putting it over his shoulder as he is accustomed to doing.

They were lucky they remained alive.

He quickly heads towards the Healer [the writhing grass permitting] to see what can be done to help free the old man or otherwise offer aid.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

Too far. She is too far away and too slow, her body not made for the demands of war. She'll never reach Lyr in time but she runs anyway, not even sure why. her stride lengthens, legs stretching the heavy fabric of her skirt and before her leading foot hits the ground twice, Lyr's shot is cast, singing wide of it's mark.

Another step and she sees the Hound's head swing around, even as Dun's arrow rings like a chime off of Edrick's armor. She stumbles in a shallow depression and almost falls, but somehow rights herself without breaking an ankle or her stride. The legate's eyes find the small man and she goes cold, a feeling like frigid water of the Eren stealing all warmth from her body.

The distance closes by another stride and she hears a grunt, from the corner of her eye sees Edrick go down, sees the Hound reach for something. His dark eyes find her, the hatred like viscous fire within. Fear freezes her heart.

Too slow!

The words scream through her mind and she pushes herself to move faster but even the fastest of men couldn't have made it, and she is far slower than that. Edrick stumbles to his master like a dog coming to heel, and with a few contemptuous words, the Hound once more calls upon the arcane and the vanish from sight. And then she is at Lyr's side, the blood pounding in her ears, staring wide eyed at the spot their enemies had just vacated.

Whatever joy there is that they are all alive is quickly forgotten as the reality of the situation comes to roost on her shoulder like a skeletal vulture. The Hound had escaped, and he took with him the knowledge of what she was. He was far more powerful than she and he was an enemy. And he knew her.

Peripherally, she becomes aware of Lyr's ministrations on the Dorn. Numb, her body nevertheless responds to his need. She moves mechanically to Rhotha'ah's side, ignoring the smaller man attempting to tend him, and begins her own inspection of his wounds. Her face is wooden, but her fingers move deftly and surely, gentle but firm.

<OOC: Heal check +6.>

[Berova]

Dun

Confronted with the writhing grasses, Dun is nevertheless tempted to take his chances to jump right in to "save" the Healer before his reason halts his feat. He shouts out to the sorcerous, "Aleina! Would you care to end this...?" as he clearly indicates to the tenebrous weeds.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

Her eyes are closed as her fingers trace the edges of the Dorn's wound, gauging the flow of blood and the depth of the injury. Her nose detects no scent of perforated bowel; the wound is nasty, but likely it would heal well given proper care. At Dun's voice her eyes snap open, staring at nothing. One slim hand lifts, bloodied, and arcs through a dismissive gesture.

"Sindu."

The word is short and spoken with authority, without her ever glancing in the direction of the archer or the field of living grasses. Her gaze travels down to the wound. By moonlight, all blood is black so it is impossible to tell whether it is bright or cloudy, which could indicate a more serious injury. Based on the location and angle of the cut she thinks not.

It makes little sense to use the arcane to solve what can be taken care of by less esoteric methods, but Aleina doesn't care. Lyr once again feels the stir of mystic waters as she swirls her hand to the dexter, rolling the fingers in doma, to channel the center.

"Estiron domes," the words come and then there is the three beat pause as her hand twists once more, coming to rest on the open wound just at the apex of the final beat, "Nerellen."

Her eyes close as the energy washes into Rhotha'ah, her own reserves draining like water from a sieve. The power was never easy, stealing her strength greedily. Despite the fear and exhaustion, despite the the hesitation and failure, for the first time this evening she is content.

<OOC: Cast Cure Light Wounds on the Dorn.>

[Dirigible]

Lyr

Lyr blinks in surprise as Aleina all but elbows him aside in order to get to the reclining Dorn. He almost opens his mouth to protest, but after a moment he realises her touch is gentler, and more skilled than his own; she seems to ahve a better inherent grasp of the physicians arts. He straightens on his knees, wiping the back of his hand against his grimy forehead, unaware of the smear of foreign blood it leaves.

A wave of giddiness passes over him as the sorceress dismisses her spell; the sensation is like the severing of a rope that holds him over the void. Before he can gather his wits to assist her in treating the Dorn's wound, she beings to speak words of power and beauty... words of magic. Lyr gasps, feeling as if a giant hand has entered his chest and is tryng to pull his very heart and soul from his body. He can almost see the pearly blue radiance form around Aleina, the delicate lacework of her weave, as graceful as she is and indefinably feminine, visible only to his mind's eye and unmistakeably hers.

She works a spell. He all but moans; the feeling is so much stronger this close than it was on the hill, and nothing stops him from basking in it. No, more than that... it is the most basic of healing charms, called Caransil Balm by some, Lifegifting by others, and el-Kaziid's Restoration in a few tomes. A spell of life and healing... which Rhotha'ah needs very much. Fighting it would be like defying the whirlwind; he can do nothing but join in the casting he knows implicitly but could never manage himself.

"Estiron domes... nerellen." His voice is a hoarse groan at first, a starving man offered his first bite of bread and finding that it is the sweetest of cakes. Each syllable, though, his incantion grows in confidence and power, differing from the dark woman's spell only in its lack of power. Despite the delay in his beginning, their voices grow into a duet without either's conscious direction; Aleina's pure contralto unintentionally song-like, Lyrs soft, light baritone flowing against it. His hands repeat the same somatic sigils in time as if drawn by her fingers by invisible cords. Enacting the Word and the Sign feels more right than anything else in his life. The small man can feel power welling up inside Aleina as she crafts her spell... he can only bask in its radiance...

No. There is another way.

Silently, his hand stretches out and touches hers as she makes the penultimate gesture. The soft, literate callouses of his finger tips press into the gaps between Aleina's delicate knuckles, his skin very pale against her olive. His motions match hers so perfectly that there is no distruption to the spell as they shape the last sign together, Lyr's fingers guiding hers as much as hers guide his.

Lyr's eyes flutter closed as a moment of unalloyed rapture flows through him, dark lashes meshing. He exhales, feeling a wave of searing energy pass from the centre of his being out to his extremities, emerging in a wave of invisible, gold-and-orange motes that comes from his mouth as it shapes the incantations and moves through the contact of channeler's flesh against channeler's flesh. For the first time in his life, the roaring storm that has battered at his mind, demanding release, is stilled, if only a fraction. Destiny fulfilled. Completion.

He wants to laugh. He wants to cry.

Aleina feels a portion of spell energy wash through her, supplimenting and overtaking the power she tries to expend to cast the spell, nourishing her soul. It is inexplicable, but clearly can come form only one source: Lyr.

To Rhotha'ah, there is no difference. Cool, soothing life flows through his sundered body, making blood staunch, impurites burn away and skin and muscle knit.

Lyr almost slumps back, a feeling of trembling weakness filling his body in the wake of the gifted energy. His hand still rests against Aleina's, his skin tingling from the feel of her smooth skin as much as from the residue of the power that arced between them. His eyes open, staring unseeingly at the sky, stars reflecting in the almost-tears that moisten his lids.



OOC: Paying for the CLW with Lyr's SE.

[Cadrius]

Aleina releases the magic of the spell as easily as one might drop a pail of water. She feels the magic slip away much like the water flees from the overturned bucket. The grass ceases its writhing, but the Healer remains firmly in its grasp. Dun steps forward with his blade and begins to slice the taught grass from the ensnared man.

Wounds itch as they heal. Rhotha'ah has not seen much combat, but he knows what it's like to be injured. Once, during a friendly wrestling match, his opponent and he collided with a rack of vials kept by their healer. Fortunately for them, none of the liquids were poisonous, but one of the shards had cut Rhotha'ah deep. The wound in his arm had itched for a week.

Aleina and Lyr check over the dorn. The wound in his stomach is the most serious. His large hand is clamped over the wound, but blood is slowly seeping out from under it. He also bears several nicks and scratches, unnoticed during his fury.

The magic Aleina wields is cool at first, comforting to him as the rage ebbs, but within a moment it turns to fire. Her spell coaxes the dorn's body to condense a week of healing into a second. Rhotha'ah heals, but he pays for it in pain.

After a minute Dun succeeds in cutting the Healer free, but the man stays as he was, empty eyes and a mouth that's half-open.

Heulwen and Aashya

Heulwen slips off a few feet, looking for arrows and leaving the young woman alone in the dark. She can make out the form of Cytaill sitting ten feet from her and judging by his shadow, the wogren watches her.

The halfling has little luck. She finds one arrow up the road, snapped after striking a stray rock. The head is chipped and will need to be reworked. The other arrow is in the woods and she knows there's little chance of finding it during the night.

She rejoins the woman and then set off down the road. The lack of light proves fortunate for Aashya. She has to tread carefully or catch her foot on a rock or rut, and Heulwen cannot move as quickly as a human might.

Minutes pass in silence and the two tread on with Cytaill little more than a shadow at the edge of the road. Nothing disturbs them: no bolts of lightning, no sounds of combat, nothing. Ten minutes pass, then fifteen, and then they pass over a small rise and catch a brief, shadowy glimpse of hell.

The first, and undeniably most foul, thing that they notice is the horrid stench of burnt flesh. Heulwen spies a man not too far distant with a charred hole where his chest used to be. Small fires near him are slowly burning out.

Further down stands a man, one of those that traveled with Aleina, he's standing next to the Healer and the two are surrounded by three foot high grass. That itself might not be unusual, but the thatch only stands that high in a small circle, those outside of it are short.

Aleina and the thin erenlander kneel by the dorn. He looks to have suffered a wound.

Aashya sees the same sights, although perhaps not as clearly, but she neither knows their names nor their faces. Still, one thing is clear to her, they've just survived violence, and that's something everyone in this valley has in common.

[Kahluah]

Rhotha'ah

Reclining on the dirt, the Dorn feels just about read to fall asleep from battle fatigue, when he feels the oddest sensation around the several wounds he had suffered in his frenzy. It feels like a cool wind passing over wet flesh, mixed with the sensation of sitting near to a warm fire at night.

But this sensation only lasts for the briefest ofmoment before the pain comes as muscles knit themselves together and skin is stretched and reformed. He growls and clenches his teeth together, throwing his head back as his back arches to try and stem the pain. A moment later, he relaxes and slumps once again, followed in the space of a heartbeat by a light snoring as he falls asleep.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Heulwen might have swallowed her tongue for all Aashya can tell; the halfing utters not a word as they make their careful way down the road. For her part, Aashya is content. She has questions, but they can wait. For the moment, her mind keeps going back over the brief fight with the knife-man, and the surprising way her body had responded.

It had been chaos: a sudden, dark presence - more felt than seen, except for the glitter of that deadly blade - was upon her before she realized what was happening. She'd known an instant of overwhelming terror as death loomed over her. She'd felt herself its helpless prey, and knew no way to stop it from taking her. All was lost. .... It was over. .... And then -- tranquility. Somehow she had closed off her fear, locking it up in a tiny corner of her mind, so that her body could go into action on its own.

Where had that sudden calm come from? It had felt like... training. Like something she had learned. And her body had fallen into readiness without thought, but it wasn't nature; it was a stance that felt practised. Where had THAT come from?

Aashya stops in the dark, recalling the feel of her body's motions. My hands were like this, and my feet were... no, like this. Yes! It feels so right, so familiar. She shifts her weight from her front foot, to her back foot; takes three quick, small steps; lunges forward......

Heulwen will believe me to be crazy! she thinks with a quick glance at the two-foot tall shadow slightly ahead of her. She goes back to walking, but is exhilarated by her discovery. Not everyone can move like this, she tells herself. It's something I learned BEFORE....... Like Greenfield is a place from BEFORE.

They have come to a small rise, and Aashya is busy with her thoughts as they begin the climb to the top. Suddenly, she is aware of silence all around them. Where is the constant, droning background hum of night insects? She slows her steps as the eerie stillness seems to seep out of the ground and up her legs. Heulwen is at the top of the rise now, standing stock still. There is a faint, flickering light beyond her. Something is not right.

Aashya reaches the crown of the hill and looks around. Small fires are burning nearby. The smell of smoke - and the stink of something else, something burnt and sickening - is strong. Near the bottom of the bowl-shaped valley are some people, a cluster of three, and maybe two others. Heulwen's companions? Aashya looks at the halfling for confirmation, or some kind of explanation.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

So engrossed in the casting is she that Lyr's actions go unnoticed, until his hand covers her own. Even then, it is so far out on the edges of her mind that she simply does not process the import or nature of his gesture. She savors this brief moment where she feels whole, full of purpose and with the opportunity to fulfill that purpose. But this time was different, too - the exhiliration dampened not at all by fatigue, feeling for all the world like a true channel between the magic and it's destination instead of the imperfect vessel of it's transmission. The moment ebbs away and as it does the realities that surround her rise like the inexorable tide.

Her gaze travels down to Lyr's hand covering her own, both dark with a warrior's blood. The brief instant of the healing flashes through her mind, for the first time analyzing it, realizing what must have happened.

In a perfect channel, the magical energy flowed from the surroundings through the caster unimpeded. Theoretically, that produced no draw on the caster's own physical reserve. As far as she knew, perfect channels were impossible. A person's body served to bind the magic as friction bound the wheels of a cart. As the incantation is loosed so too is it necessary for the caster to propel it, thereby burning some of their inner strength.

In the moment, she had not noticed but looking back on it now she knew that instead of drawing her own strength, she had drawn it from Lyr. Like a parasite, she had robbed him of that special essence that channelers cultivated, leaving her own reserve intact. It had been unwitting, surely, but nevertheless she had violated him. And his hand still sat atop hers.

She jerks her hand away and rises swiftly, backing off a few paces and folding her arms. The enormity of what has happened in this vicinity creeps up on her like a tidal wave about to break. The soft sound of Rhotha'ah's breathing is unnaturally clear in the still night.

"We must leave this place, quickly. Magic has been done here, and that alone is reason enough to leave. Moreso, the Hound will be back and he will not be easily scared off a second time."

The healer was another story. As long as he was incoherent they would need to carry him, and they wouldn't be able to get any information from him. He was the real danger to them, as the hound seemed to be able to track him.

"Don't forget his staff."

Even as she speaks the words to Dun, she wonders if the object is magical. Perhaps that is how the Hound was following him. Then she is starting back the way she came, clucking her tongue for Bombur. The mule could easily carry a human along with his current load.

[Dirigible]

Lyr

The stars continue their stately dance above, the Eternal Ride of the Sorshef, majestically oblivious to the affairs of the men and fey below. Lyr watches them with as little interest as they show him, sorting through the swirl of feelings that threaten to render him insensate. Giddiness of joy is there and a warm, engulfing sense of wholeness...

He looks down from the sky as he feels Aleina rise from his side. He looks up at her, the beginnings of a smile on his lips, and starts to open his mouth to speak...

Then he sees it. The cold mask, back between her features and her mind. Save for the eyes; in those icy spheres, he sees fear and revulsion. The rejection hits him like a physical blow; the dismissal of all he is, his sole joy as something disgusting and unwanted. Lyr's heart sinks and his belly fills with leaden depression. The smile dies on his lips, and his dark eyes take on a plaintive, begging cast as Aleina turns away, a mute appeal for acceptance directed at her back. But none comes. None comes.

His features overcast with despair, Lyr stands, mechanically brushing dirt from his knees and nonds dumbly at Aleina's general instructions. He steps over to the barbarian, and shakes the big man by the shoulder, calling his name. If this doens't work, Lyr strains and heaves, trying to pull the Dorn to his feet.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Heulwen stares with open amazement. Whatever had caused the lightening bolt, it had cerianly found a target.

"By all the gods in the Severed Heavens!"

The smell of burning flesh soon brings her back to reality. The lightening bolt had certianly started the job, but the dead man was still largely intact.

"Gather wood," she chokes out to Aashya, trying desperately not to smell the greusome air, "We must burn the body before it can rise."

Wasting no more time, Heulwen draws her sword and swiftly moves to decapitate the smoldering corpse.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

"The body . . . . . . . "

Aashya hadn't noted a body anywhere. But it's easy enough to see where Heulwen is looking - over where the fires are smoldering. There is something dark on the ground over there. Dark and messy. The lightning bolt had struck something alright.

"Was it someone you knew?" she asks the halfing, following as she moves through the darkness. Her voice is a bare, trembling whisper. She stops and stands rigid when she comes within sight of the body, her eyes wide as Heulwen draws her sword. Choking on the overpowering smell of cooked flesh, the young Sarcosan turns quickly away, and begins to scan the ground for kindling wood as she'd been instructed to do.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"No," Heulwen replies as she continues with her ghastly work, "but I can guess who he was."

"Like the man who attacked you in the forest, he was one of the men we were chasing. Not the most dangerous, likely, but still an agent of the Dark God."

Having finished detaching the corpse's head, Heulwen steps a few feet away to one of the still burning small fires. Placing the head within it, she quickly begins to add whatever fuel is avaliable to the fire, making sure to burn the head completely.

"Build a pyre around the body," she instructs Aashya when she returns with the first load of wood, "we must burn it completely so that it will not rise as one of the Fell."

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

She holds her breath and averts her eyes as she returns with an armload of dry wood. It had been tempting to slip away in the darkness, to turn her back on this strange group of people and their bizarre burnt offering. She fears that she may have stumbled upon something unlucky, maybe even cursed. Agent of the Dark God??

She drops the kindling near the body, and escapes toward a surviving clump of nearby trees to gather another load. Someone else can build the pyre, she decides. Doubtless these people are used to beheading and burning bodies everywhere they go, but her stomach can't take it.

The others in the group seem to be preparing to move on. Aashya avoids them, making sure to stay out of their way; but she watches them with unblinking interest from the safety of the trees.

There are five of them all together, not counting Heulwen. One is larger than the rest, a sinewy mountain of a man, a Northman by his looks. And one is a woman. It's hard to see anything else in more detail, except that the Northman seems to be injured, and one of the other men seems to be incapacitated.

Who had called the lightning down? Heulwen had said that her friends suspected their quarry of having the power. And yet the dead man was one of the ones that they hunted. What had happened here? Who killed who? Why didn't Heulwen ask her friends to explain?

I could still slip away. . . . . . . . . Aashya tries to tell herself that there isn't any reason for her to get involved here. She's travelled alone this far, she can make it the rest of the way to Greenfield on her own.

Her arms are full again - there's plenty of dead wood lying around here. Might as well take it all back to Heulwen so she can burn the body. It can't be allowed to rise as one of the Fell. Aashya sighs and steps out of the trees. I guess my decision is made.

[Berova]

Dun

After cutting the Healer free, Dun stares at him for but a few blinks of an eye, looking for any obvious wounds. The Erenlander moves an open hand purposefully before the man's eyes just to see if a reaction can be gained from him. It is as if his mind is lost in another world.

Not knowing what to do, Dun lets his instincts be his guide. He looks around for the Healer's walking stick as Aleina had earlier reminded. Spying it nearby, Dun quickly retrieves it. With his free hand and arm wrapped around the man's shoulders and his other one holding the walking stick, Dun attempts to escort the man towards the others.

If the Healer either cannot or would not comply, Dun calls out to the others for aid, "Somethin's happened to the Healer, he would'na move. Will one of you lend us a hand?"

[Kahluah]

Rhotha'ah

The large Dorn dreams of a time before the Shadow first came, of a time where his people ruled the Northern lands with truth and fairness, of a time where he would have lived in a city and not a settlement besieged by masked raiders. But no sooner had he begun to dream, it is shattered by the urgings of a small Erenlander.

Rhotha'ah stirs, squinting his eyes from the pain of a post-frenzy headache. He growls slightly as he stands, the wound in his side knitted together by magic, though the muscles continue to spasm from being healed too quickly. He stoops to pick up his bastard sword, wiping the blade with a cloth from his backpack before sheathing it in it's scabbard, his whole countenance showing the signs of battle fatigue.

[Cadrius]

Dun, Rhotha'ah, Lyr, Aleina

The dorn climbs to his feet, spent from the battlelust that fueled his ephemeral rage. Eyelids heavy, he gathers himself to move again. Aleina is insistant that they move. If the Hound were to return in force...well, it's best not to think of such things. They live close enough to death as it is, they need not ponder in what way it might seek them.

With the staff in one hand, and the healer draped across his shoulder, Dun tries to make his way back to the others. He grinds the end of the torch into the ground, securing it and hoping it doesn't tip over. An uncontrolled grass fire would only make things more difficult, and provide a beacon to any unfriendly eyes.

The Healer is unwilling to move at first, his eyes still glazed, as if he were seeing something far away, or lost in thought. His mouth remains partly open, frozen in mid-speech. And yet as the erenlander guides him forward, he takes a faltering step, and then another. By the time Dun reaches the others, the Healer is moving along normally, but only when guided.

And that's when they hear it. The sound of a woman's voice speaking in another tongue. It sounds distressed and coming from the hill they just came from. A few moments later they hear the unmistakable wet cutting sound, steel on flesh.

Heulwen and Aashya

The sight itself is gruesome, but it's truly the stench that makes her eyes stream. Her keen sense of smell is inundated by the half-cooked flesh before her. She feels her gorge start to rise, the acrid taste of bile creeping into her mouth. Heulwen forces her stomach to retain its contents, at least for the moment.

Cytaill sits not ten feet away, watching her. He seems uninterested by the carcass. Perhaps he has no taste for cooked meat, or perhaps he simply does not eat manflesh.

Her sword parts his throat easily enough, but the halfling has to put her weight on the blade to sever the head. Done with the brutal task, she walks away, dusting herself off.

The woman, Aashya, returns with more kindling. The fire won't be hot enough to burn the bones, but the rest of the corpse will surely be consumed.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

She drops this last load of firewood near the body. Using the toe of her boot, she tries kicking it into place without actually getting too near to the corpse herself. Would it really come back to life - or rather, acquire an unlife that animates its limbs - if left intact? This is the first dead body that Aashya can recall ever seeing before. The existence of undead is something that she hadn't thought about much before.

But she had heard stories . . . . . . It is best not to call such things to mind right now however.

"Heulwen, will this do?" she asks the halfing, motioning toward the pile of dry wood. She takes up a thick branch from the pile, and lights the end of it in one of the small fires that still smolders nearby. Then she lights the kindling around the body, keeping her eyes fixed on the bright orange tongues of flame. She finishes by tossing the burning brand into the middle of the growing blaze.

She turns quickly away, and begins to walk down the hill toward Heulwen's friends. She might as well get the meeting over with. She'd prefer not to be alone - not with her attacker still on the loose; not with so many questions about the night's events left unanswered; not, at least, until morning.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Finished with the gruesome task of burning the head, Heulwen is aranging Aashya's first load of wood around the rest of the body when she returns with a second. A few minutes of preperation later and the body is also on fire, the wood from the pyre burning steadily.

Finally unable to take the stench any longer, Heulwen turns her back on the fire and moves upwind slightly before heading towards the others. With the fire lit like that they would need to get out of the area quickly, but at least no poor traveler would encounter a Fell as a result of what ever had happened here.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

Her feet find their way up the slope with mechanistic rythym, her back straight and her head held high. For all the wreckage about, she might be walking across a courtyard in springtime, observing the foliage. Her eyes are another story - icy, frost rimmed pools trained on her soul instead of her surroundings. What she sees there both shames and scares her, but some secrets were best left unspoken. To the rest of the world she must be calm and in control, certain of her course and unfailing in her purpose.

The fires spring higher on the hillside and above the dull crackle of flame she hears a woman's voice, the pitch high enough for it to be Heulwen but Aleina is unsure. Nor does she recognize the language, but she knows what languages it isn't. Process of elimination means halfling or gnomish, which makes her feel a little better about it's origin. Her feet never falter, even when the human girl appears from the darkness, apparently headed this way. Small, dark and lithe, she is obviously of Sarcosan descent.

No arms, no armor, and judging by her face just as much a fugitive as they. The girl stops as she catches sight of Aleina, her bearing uncertain. Aleina spreads her arms in what is meant to be a friendly gesture, though she closes the distance between them until only about forty feet separate the two. As she has done a few times earlier in this same night, Aleina masks her own fear with an air of unbreachable confidence.

"Greetings, stranger. What brings you here?"

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"The better question might be who," Heulwen says as she catches up to where Aashya and Alenia are standing.

"I found her, following us when the rest of you rushed off ahead. A man almost knifed her in the back, though fortunately an arrow from my bow put a stop to that. Aleina, meet Aashya. Aashya, Aleina."

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

An awkward moment.

The woman is so formal! "Greetings, stranger." But at least she appears to be friendly.

Heulwen approaches from behind and answers the woman's question before Aashya can formulate a coherent response herself. She nods to show her agreement.

"Yes, I saw your torchlight on the road, and thought I ought to see what was going on. Heulwen says you were chasing someone..." Thinking of the body burning behind her, Aashya falters. She's not about to tell these people much more about herself when she knows next to nothing about them or their purpose for being on the road at night.

"I uh- I'm pleased to meet you, Aleina."

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

I wish I could say the same.

It disturbs her that Heulwen gives out her name so freely, especially after what this Aashya may have just seen. Aleina had deliberately withheld that information, already fearing the hunters that would surely follow her. And they knew nothing about this girl except that she had been attacked . . .

The fourth man in the Hound's company. He was still unaccounted for. The knowledge draws the knot of fear tighter in her belly, yet none of it shows on her face. Indeed, nothing shows on her face.

"And you, Aashya. You have met us at a most difficult time and this place is not safe. Forgive my forwardness, but I must know your purpose."

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

"A difficult time....." That's one way of putting it. Although judging from what Aashya has seen so far it seems that it was the other guys that had the difficult time. Her eyes travel the darkness beyond Aleina searching for the others she knows are there. Which one of these people had called down that lightning strike?

"My purpose? I'm just travelling," she explains, doing her best to look like the ordinary person that she is.

I'm nobody really. You don't have to be afraid of me.

"I'm trying to get to Greenfield."

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

"Did you suppose we were heading to this Greenfield?"

The question is perhaps unkind, but her voice is friendly. She doesn't wait for an answer, shifting her eyes to Heulwen.

"Is there more you would tell me?"

[Black Plauge]

Huelwen

"You know as well as I do who her assalaint might have been," Heulwen replies, "Would you have had me leave her to such as him?"

"But, what happened here?" Heulwen asks, gesturing back over her shoulder at the burning corpse, "It looks like one of the Hound's men met that lightening bolt we saw. Don't tell me we were too late."

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

Her mouth tightens slightly at the rebuke; that wasn't what she was getting at. Now wasn't the time to argue over it though. They needed to get moving.

"You know I would leave none to those beasts, were it in my power. Yet neither can we leave her to wander, with one still afoot and more sure to come."

She folds her arms and glances back to make sure the others are coming this way.

"No, we were not too late, but late enough. The healer is with us, but incoherent. The Hound has escaped with one of his men; they departed by some magic. I fear it won't be long before they return. And you say his other man is lurking nearby. You see why I fear."

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"A legate..." Heulwen hisses, "one of his men dead, another wounded, and his quarry escaped. He will not be pleased." Though her voice contains a hint of worry and fear, a small smile can be seen playing on Heulwen's face at the thought of the trouble the Dark God's man might receive for his failing.

"We need to move and move quickly. Get away from here while the Hound is suffering from this setback. You said the healer was incoherent? Can your mule carry him? I will take my gear and saddle Cytaill. Speed will be of the essence. The more ground we place between ourselves and this place the longer it will take the Hound to find us again."

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

"Yes, I believe he is under a spell; he will be no help to us - for now, at least."

And just when we need it most.

They would need to do without his help. She could try and break the spell when they had more time, but in the meantime he was a burden. He also was in no position to tell them how the Hound could track him, or how they might avoid that same detection. No matter how far they might travel or how quickly, she knew that it would not be enough. The Hound would find them, and sooner rather than later.

"Bombur can carry him, but it will slow us down."

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

The healer..... the hound..... magic.....

Aashya tries to follow Aleina's explanation of what happened here, but it's rather confusing. Someone escaped - the Hound, she thinks it was - but may return soon.

Then Heulwen speaks. Aashya only hears the first part of what she has to say.

"You were chasing a legate? A legate??!" How insane is that? There could never be a reason to do such a thing. The gnomes worked against the dark god, but always in secret, always indirectly. Nobody chases a legate.

The terrible thing is, if the legate comes back looking for Heulwen and her friends, he'd be just as likely to find Aashya instead. Aashya... alone against a legate and his men... She'd just as soon not have it work out that way!

"I- I don't have to go to Greenfield," she stammers out, fear widening her dark eyes. "Not right away. I'm not even sure where it is. I could help you somehow......."

Please don't leave me here by myself!

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"That cannot be helped. We must do what we can. Every mile we put between us and this place is a mile the Hound must travel to catch up with us."

Turning to an obviously frightened Aashya, Heulwen continues, "You are, of course, welcome to accompany us, for I fear that in saving your life, I have tied you to us in the eyes of those who would now chase us. You may be better off getting as far away from us as possible though. You might still escape notice. It is your decision."

Turning back to Aleina, Heulwen says, "Come, let us get my saddle and gear from Bombour. The longer this takes the fewer miles we will cover before the Hound recovers."

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

She nods at Heulwen before her eyes find Aashya with a measuring look, sizing up the other woman's bearing and attitude. Her confusion is plain to see, not that Aleina is surprised; she had been deliberately cryptic. Aashya's fear of what the hound might be is obvious.

"We know nothing for certain, except that they mean us harm and they will be back soon. I think it is in everyone's best interest if you come with us. Think on it while we prepare to depart."

Without another word she turns to help Heulwen with the mule.

[Kahluah]

Rhotha'ah

While the three women talk up on the hillside, the Dorn recovers from the fury of battle. It had done him good to unleash some of the bottled up rage that he had struggled to keep in check while in Kingscross, and he feels lighter for it. Though the entirety of his body throbs with a dull ache as lactic acid courses through it, his soul is just that much lighter.

Patting himself down, he ensures that all of his weaponry is still in place - the two axes at his back, the dagger in his boot and the bow and sword on his back. He rehooks his quiver to his belt, and ensures that the arrows are in place ready to be used should the need arise. Next time it would be wise not to charge in so. He muses to himself, his hand moving to the gaping hole in his armor where he had nearly fallen onto the man's spear upon tripping him, before looking up at the women on the hill.

"If we are to leave, we should do so quickly." He calls out, his baritone voice echoing through the silence of the dark night. He looks about the battlefield once more, and gives a whispered thanks to his ancestors for keeping him alive for just one more night.

[Cadrius]

Heulwen, Dun, Rhotha'ah, Aashya, Lyr, Aleina

The nine stand together in the chill night, the rush of battle fading from some, while the stomachs of the others return to normal. In the distance, the corpse begins to burn. The smell will get far worse before it will get better, and the fire, if not the odor, will attract predators, and perhaps worse.

Aashya, confused by these people's risk-taking, wonders what else they might do. Any that would chase a man that's purportedly a legate might well do other things, such as taunt a pack of orcs, or perhaps make a rude gesture at an oruk; neither are condusive to long, healthy lives. And yet, there is a safety in numbers and they might help her reach Greenfield, now if only she knew why...

Aleina and Heulwen guide the Healer to Bombur. The mule looks back over his shoulder at the three and almost seems to sigh. Yet he remains quite still as they rearrange the gear to accomodate the Healer. Mechanically the man slings his leg over the mule's back and sets himself down. The blank expression remains despite his actions.

Cytaill proves to be less cooperative than the Healer. The sight of the saddle has his ears flatten and he hunches down a bit. Yet a sharp command by Heulwen in her native tongue has the wogren slinking over to her with his tail slack behind him. From there the saddling goes easily enough.

Rhotha'ah examines the battlefield, at least what there is of it, and feels grateful that he survived. Had the numbers been slightly different he might have been spitted upon Edrick's spear. It still may have happened if the man had been able to outlast the dorn's blind rage. But he had not and it was Rhotha'ah, not Edrick, that stands victorious. However that might not last should they linger here.

[Dirigible]

Lyr

Lyr helps the big Dorn up the hill with a hand on his shoulder. As Rhotha'ah plods with leaden-looking feet Lyr wonders: What good will this do?, looking at his hand. If he falls, I'll be crushed!

He reaches the group of women, halflings and giant dogs and nods warily but politely at Aashya. The othes seem to accept her presense, and he has neither the time or inclination to question it himself. He listens to the tail-end of the conversation, piecing together what he missed in his mind with ease, but has nothing to add. Within two paces of Aleina again, the pull is back, and stronger than ever. Her... aura?... more intoxicating than he can bare. Heulwen and the Sarcosan girl probably catch him looking at the Erenlander woman more than is strictly necessary.

But most of all, as always, Lyr a'Corian thinks about magic. He thinks about the Hound's escape, Aleina's weavings, and the raging firestorm of energy that beats in his chest where passion and courage should lie.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

What kind of people purposefully chase after a legate, face off with him, and somehow end up driving him away?

Aashya remembers back to the time shortly after the gnomes took her in. They had questions about her, questions for which she had no answers. Who was she? How had she come to be in the river? And how did she happen to have a gaping belly wound obviously made by a sharp blade?

They could see that she was Sarcosan... Was she perhaps one of the Free Riders of the southlands, injured in a raid? Aashya couldn't tell them anything. The Free Riders had seemed like a dim rumor to her - she may have heard about them before..... they rode horses, didn't they, and fought orcs? Something about the thought of them was uplifting... honorable. But trying to think back beyond the ordeal in the river made her head hurt. She had flatly decided that she was not a Free Rider. She couldn't imagine herself doing what they did. She was just... a peasant.

But now..... Well, she had fought an armed attacker, kicking and punching him, somehow knowing the right moves. Someone had trained her. That kind of fighting ability didn't just come naturally to a peasant! It may not have been the Free Riders, but it had been someone.

Someone like these people maybe?

The fear is ebbing. The longer she stands here and no legate appears to drag her off to be tortured or sacrificed, the more she feels that she has discovered something good, not unlucky or cursed as she had at first thought. These people are doing good things. They are making a difference in a dark world where there is little comfort for the helpless. They rescued a healer from the forces of Izrador. Aashya feels confident that they won't hurt her. It may be dangerous to stay with them, but perhaps she is up to the challenge afterall.

At least she may be able to learn something from them. She wishes that she could remain as calm and serene as Aleina obviously is, even when preparing to run for her life!

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"Cytaill!" Heulwen exclaims when he shows reluctance to be saddled, "We have no time to argue here!"

Once Cytaill is saddled, however, Heulwen takes a moment to apologize, "I'm sorry I don't have time to have asked properly, but we must be away from here as fast as possible. With the healer in the condition he is in and a legate soon to be on our heels, we have precious little time to waste."

Scratching Cytaill behind the ears with both hand, Heulwen puts her nose to his and whispers, "Thank you for being my friend."

Looking at the others, Heulwen reverts to a language they can understand and says, "We should head west. The healer indicated to me that that was the direction he intended to travel, so he might have friends along that route; friends who might be able to help us, the gods willing. Unless anyone has any objections, I say we cut across country for now. The going will be harder than on the road, but there is less chance that we will run into some one who might betray us."

[Berova]

Dun

Relieved that once they got moving and the Healer was more cooperative, Dun was hopeful something could be done for him but he was at a loss what can be done. He is wary of yet another unrecognizable voice, that of a woman. His caution turned to alarm when he heard the sound of steel on flesh. He almost want to lean on the Healer for support when he realized what gruesome task was proceeding before them, thankful it did not fall upon him to perform. Dun then peered at the funeral pyre or bonfire started by the halfling and a new stranger, a Sarcosan. So much for not making things more difficult. He wonders how they can possibly make a bigger beacon for any that would do them harm.

As the others question the newcomer, Dun wonders again what he is doing there. So much that transpired this night made so little sense. He reflects on the most recent events that transpired. He views the icy woman with suspicion and wonderment, suspicion at her actions leading up to the fight for life and death and wonderment at what she did during and after the "skirmish". Dun was curious the Dorn's currently uncharacteristic subdued state, but concludes it must be from the terrible wound he suffered at the hands of the Hound's henchman, Edrick. As for the fellow Erenlander, he was surprised at first and then shocked yet again when he spoke up to confront the Hound.

Heulwen's voice cuts into Dun's thoughts. He readily answers, "Then please lead the way. I have no wish to linger here, this place of death..."

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

"Yes, I believe we are ready." She looks briefly at Heulwen. "We will leave a clear trail for them to follow and the hound knows we must depart from here. You are skilled in tracking: is there some way you might make their way more difficult, obscure the signs of our passage - at least for a short distance?"

She pauses and then serenly addresses the Sarcosan girl.

"Aashya? It is time to choose."

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"I can try, but doing so will likely slow us even further," Heulwen replies, "Besides, the Hound may not need a trail in the sense I am used to thinking. He followed the healer without a moment's hesitation at that fork in the road where it took me several minutes to seperate out the correct trail. How fast will your mount go with the healer on his back?"

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

"I'm ready.... I'll go with you."

Aashya can only hope that she's making the right decision. She'd avoided people every step of this journey, up until now. But somehow she'd been sucked in by this group. A part of her mind screams, See? You should have stayed away from the road! There's nothing worse than telling yourself, 'I told you so'!

But in reality, she's feeling good about joining up with these people. They seem to know what they're doing.......

[Dirigible]

Lyr

"...he might have friends along that route; friends who might be able to help us, the gods willing."

"Or friends that the Hound already knows about, and is hunting down as we speak," Lyr suggests quietly. Odd that she asks the 'gods' for their blessing... "Or that are prepared to sell the trust of a band of strangers to the Shadow."

At a sharp glance from Heulwen, he raises his palms to her placatingly. "I do not mean to criticise your plan. I have nothing better to offer, in any case. I merely think that it is always better to go into a situation with one's eyes wide open to the possibilities of danger ahead. Or the certainties..." he says, the last part under his breath.

As always, dwelling on the many, many horrible things that could go wrong in the immediate future makes him feel unaccountably better.

The impotent channeler - a part of his mind wonders if that term is now applicable to him, given that he has cast a spell by proxy, now - tucks his sling back into its hiding place in his boot and checks that his pack is well set.

"Will you be able to walk unaided?" Lyr's dark eyes survey the towering Dorn at his side.

"...He followed the healer without a moment's hesitation at that fork in the road where it took me several minutes to seperate out the correct trail."

At this, Lyr looks up sharply. The he lowers his head again just as swiftly, his eyes flickering back and forth unseeingly over the ground at his feet. After a few moments he shakes himself, filing away the idea for later use. Yes, that is the best path. he takes a quiet, deep breath and puts his mind in order. Which, at this point, means forcibly ignoring the tingling sensation that crawls all over his skin whenever Aleina is near.

He turns to look at the dark haired young woman - No, she's the same age as me, or Dun... The Sarcosans anxiety and uncertainty makes her look younger than she is, just as Dun's good-natured confidence maes him look older. Lyr is well aware of the fact that his solemnity makes him look rather older than he is. Secretly, he rather likes this fact.

"Aashya?" he tries to smile lightly at the small, dark woman, and offers his hand. "Welcome. If we're going to be travelling together, you should know our names."

"This is Rhotha'ah of the North," indicating the woozy berserker. "No better warrior have I ever seen."

"Dun Abben," Lyr nods to his friend and felow Erenlander. "A man who..." Lyr suddenly blanks, not at all sure what Dun talents are. He uses a bow? "...of limitless versatility," he finishes lamely.

"Aleina, a.... healer." He is unsure whether to mention her more mystical talents, and truth be told would rather ignore them himself at this point.

"Heulwen I suppose you already know?" It doesn't even occur to him to introduce Cytail as an equal. "A fine huntress."

"And I am Lyr a'Corian. A scholar, of sorts." He inclines his head slightly to the Sarcosan.

As he concludes the introductions, Lyr makes ready to move.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

The group coalesces around Aleina and Heulwen as they talk about setting out across country, and trying to cover their own tracks as they go.

Our own tracks, Aashya corrects herself. She's one of them now.

The small Sarcosan girl finds it hard not to stare at the towering Northman as he comes near. Like Heulwen, he carries a bow; but he also has a huge sword strapped to his back. Aashya has not seen his like before.

He walks with some difficulty, and leans on a smaller Erenlander for support. The sight is almost comical, and Aashya begins to smile, but the talk is too serious for that. The Erenlander points out a few more dangers that lie along their road. And he's right - they can't trust anybody not to sell them out. We can't trust anybody. Another mental reminder that she is now a part of this group, whoever they are.

She does smile though when the Erenlander introduces himself and his other two friends. She takes his offered hand firmly, and nods at Rhotha'ah and Dun in turn. She looks at Aleina in surprise when Lyr names her as a healer. The gnomes' healer had been an old and wizened little man. It seems odd to Aashya to put Aleina in the same class with him.

And Lyr calls himself a scholar. Aashya has to think a moment before she can come up with a meaning for that word. Somebody who reads books.... he does look the type. But again, somehow she'd thought that a scholar would be older. They're all pretty young...... she thinks, looking around at their faces.

"Heulwen is a fine huntress, I know," Aashya says when Lyr finishes. "One of her arrows saved my life a little while ago. Of course, if I hadn't ducked in time she would've hit me instead of the man that was about to stab me in the back!"

Aashya would like to tell everyone what it is that she does well. If only she knew what it was......

[Dirigible]

Lyr

She's strong, Lyr muses as he massages his long fingers, eyeing Aashya out of the corner of his eye. Smaller than Aleina yet at least as strong as Dun. ANd what's more, her hand held a kind of... force that made him sure she could kill a man with them alone. Curious.

[Kahluah]

Rhotha'ah

The Dorn pushes off the smaller Erenlander, cracking his neck loudly with the verterbrae clicking into the night. Stretching, he grins at Lyr before opening his mouth in a wide yawn. "Thank you my friend, but I should be fine to walk now. The frenzy took much more out of me than I had expected it to."

He looks over the new woman through tired eyes, and when he is introduced, he is slow to react, merely nodding in her direction. He turns to Aleina, tilting his head to the side. "Are we satisfied enough to leave this place now?"

[Berova]

Dun

When Lyr introduces him, Dun gives Lyr a knowing, wry smile.

Still unsure of Aashya's purpose, and perhaps because he nature is a bit more suspicious than the others, Dun reluctantly nods back to her intently.

But when Lyr introduces himself as a scholar, Dun cocks an eye, surprised that he would even admit to such a thing, knowing full well the dangers of that profession.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

The group gathers in the unfortunate flair of a human bonfire, acrid smoke delivering it's fetid message. There was death here, and if they didn't leave there would probably be more. Her stern glance appraises the members of the company; Rhotha'ah seemed subdued, Dun reserved, Lyr jumpy, Heulwen sure and Aashya anything but.

"How fast will your mount go with the healer on his back?"

She frowns. Bombur would be carrying a good bit of weight - enough to make him slower than her.

"Probably about the same speed as you would make unmounted. Slower than me, and considerably slower than the pace Rhotha'ah can set. And you say covering our trail will slow us further . . .

"If that is true, then I do not think it is wise to risk it. What speed we can make will have to serve."

And we are already weary.

She shakes her head the bows it in thought. From the corner of her eye she can see Lyr sidle by and make his introductions to Aashya. She stiffens at the girl's reply.

Attacked?

"What happened to this assailant?"

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"He ran, rather than risk another arrow from my bow," Heulwen replies to Aleina's question. "He was on the road, headed back towards Kingscross, but could easily stop and come back. That is part of the reason I would prefer to cut across country. There will be far less chance that we shall encounter him that way."

Mounting Cytaill, Heulwen gestures to the others, "Shall we get moving?"

[Cadrius]

The nine move through the shallow valley leaving nothing but blood and a burning corpse in their wake. The flames lick greedily at both flesh and tinder and the smell of cooked flesh intensifies. Yet they might bear the horrific odor if only to stand by a fire for a few moments. The rest of the night is chill, colder than before, and they might not have any warmth until daybreak. If they survive until then.

Worried glances are cast over tired shoulders. At any moment they expect to see the Hound again, refortified and being flanked by a dozen men-at-arms, or worse, orcs. Yet nothing disturbs them as they cross the valley and crest the hill. Their make shift torches provide little light, but it serves well enough.

Desperate for speed, Aleina starts coaxing Bombur to move faster, but the mule will have none of it. His ears flatten at her words, but he won't, or can't, move faster. The Healer sits across the mule's back, hands lightly woven into Bombur's mane.

The dorn begins to shake some of the fatigue of battle from his muscles only to find a deeper fatigue waiting for him. He closes his heavy eyelids and opens them again meeting Dun's gaze. Rhotha'ah can tell the erenlander feels the same.

Heulwen and Aashya move along, their brief sleep temporarily invigorating their bodies, but it is only a matter of time before they'll need to rest again. The halfling can feel Cytaill take an easy pace, unwilling to push himself. Together they press ahead of the party, but not too far.

In contrast Lyr feels awake, alive. Perhaps it's the rush of combat, or more likely it's the tingle of Aleina's arcane energy. It feels as if his nerves are aflame and he likes it. Silently he basks in the intangible warmth and for a time he forgets his disability.

Aleina walks along side Bombur and the Healer, keeping one hand on the mule's flank. She's tired. Her muscles are sore from walking, and her body is weary from fear. Looking around she sees some of the others feel the same. They can't do this for very long.

The knolls and hillocks come and go, rising and falling beneath their boots. Yet soon the land evens out and they walk among dying sword grass, the sharp brown stalks fading in the face of autumn. Small clouds of dirt are kicked up with each step as they cut through the grasslands, careful to keep away from the sword grass.

High above the stars watch, making their way across the sky. To Aleina they've never seemed as cold or as distant as they do tonight, but perhaps it's simply the whisper of fatigue in her ear.

Time passes, an hour perhaps, and they stop briefly to feed Bombur. The break provides little rest and it's clear they will not be going much further tonight.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

As they walk along, the silence around them - between them - seems to grow. Yes there is the muffled sound of their feet scuffling the ground; some softly, others less so. And there is the occasional sound that Aleina makes as she coaxes the recalcitrant donkey. But the land seems dead around them; even the wind has died down, no longer hissing through the tall grasses.

Aashya lets the silence envelop her. She plods along in a cocoon of her own thoughts, her eyelids growing heavier with each step. No words are spoken by anyone. Heulwen and Cytaill lead the way; the rest follow. There's evidently nothing to talk about.

One of the things she hates most about walking is all the time it leaves her with nothing to do but think. Aashya has done too much of it over the last few days. It's hard to keep her mind from going in circles, trying to remember things that just won't come back to her. Even with the nignt's events as fresh fodder, her brain insists on trying to make sense of her past.

What's in Greenfield that makes it so important? Something about the place fills her with hope, even bringing a melancholy smile to her lips as she walks. She can almost remember...... something........ But it's always just out of reach.

She shakes her head, tired of pondering. The party has come to a stop for the time being, taking a little rest. Feeling her mouth parched and her throat raw from the cold, dry air, Aashya reaches for her waterskin and takes a small sip. Others are doing the same.

Her eyes meet those of the scholar, Lyr. He's an Erenlander; maybe he knows the area. She hesitates a moment, then wraps her cloak more closely around her bare arms and walks over to him.

"Cold," she says, her breath steaming slightly. "I'm not used to it." Lyr notes that she has a slight, but noticeable, southern accent.

She stows the waterskin, rearranging her pack to sit more comfortably on her shoulders. Then she continues awkwardly. "I-I've heard that it snows in this part of the world. Are you... are you from around here?"

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Cytaill seems unwilling to move very quickly, but as Heulwen is in no mood to push him either, that works out alright. They move easily, occasionally moving ahead of the others, who are restrained to the slow speed of the mule, and then sliding back to rejoin them.

Fortunately there is little to worry about. In deciding to cut across country, Heulwen seems to have made a correct decision. They encounter no one else and only have to battle their own fatigue.

After traveling a little over an hour the group is forced to stop to feed Bombour and it becomes clear that they cannot go much further tonight.

"Wait here. I will find us a suitible campsite. Then we can set up watches and get some proper rest. We won't get much farther if we run ourselves into the ground."

Directing Cytaill away from the group, Heulwen uses her instincts and skills, honed by months of surviving on her own, to find a copse or depression that might hide them all from prying eyes.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

The chill night devolves into the muffled, mechanical tread of feet broken by the occaisional crackling protestation of dormant underbrush. The newly revealed channeler is withdrawn, contemplating the recent past with eyes colder than the night around them. The truth weighs on her neck like a brick balanced on a reed: she is now hunted as much as the man they seek to protect. Her new found companions were guilty by association - should anything happen to them it was her fault.

Tears almost come to her eyes, but they remain frozen in the pit of her stomach. To heal others made her whole, but in healing them was she not also damning them? It was an old dilemma for her, one made only too real before. If that was all that troubled her, perhaps she would not be so grim.

The Hound. She had used the magic against him; had -for one brief fleeting moment- wished she could use her gift to hurt him as he tried to hurt her. It was wrong. It wasn't what she was about.

How am I to protect myself without harming him?

The question is irrelevant to Bombur, who seems to sense that her energy is placed elsewhere. Her half-hearted attempts at getting him to move more quickly are ignored and she doesn't bother pushing the issue. He's smart enough to get away with it, but ultimately he might regret it.

And then there was Lyr. The self proclaimed scholar had been careful to stay clear of her, his face somewhat aghast any time she chanced to meet his gaze. She didn't know what had happened, how she had tapped this man's strength for her own use but clearly he knew what she had done. It compounded her feelings, making her wonder who or what she was becoming when she wanted one man dead and was inadvertantly injuring a friend.

Almost before she realizes it, Heulwen is looking for a campsite, and she looks around at the others. They all need rest. Her legs are leaden and cramping, her back aching from the weight of her pack. Yet she had not faltered, driving herself as hard as those bigger and stronger, the strength of her mind making up for the deficiencies in her body. She pats Bombur reassuringly, though he doesn't seem particularly upset. Her gaze travels to the healer, having avoided thinking about him as much as possible. She could not avoid him forever though.

Lucien.

The Hound had named him, and somehow having a name made him seem more real, more vulnerable than he had back in his little home. She studies his posture, the look in his eyes, the slackness of his muscles and then sends her senses deeper, searching for some clue as to the source of the spell that surely surrounds him.

<OOC: Spellcraft +7 to identfy the spell in place.>

[Dirigible]

Lyr

Wrapped in his own thoughts, Lyr wanders ahead under the autumn stars. Unlike those around him, his step feels light and full of vitality; for now, the knowledge that in some small way, he can channel wins out over the painful rejection he feels from Aleina. In a sense, he bared his soul to her; whatever she saw there repelled her. But not even this depressing thought cannot adhere to his mind at this moment, even though the young outcast was normally so willing to entertain dark thoughts. The feeling of energy surging forth form within him remains on his fingertips as more than a memory, nearly tangible. Heady. All-consuming.

After some time, he breaks out of his reverie just a little, and glancing back he sees the fatigued band of men, women and animals. A spasm of guilt or embarrassment crosses his face - and meeting Aleina’s eyes for just a moment (and ignoring the crackle her translucent gaze sends through his spine), he sees something similar... or is it fear? Or revulsion?

He slows to rejoin the others, but after just a few more minutes of traveling Bombur puts voice to everyone’s thoughts. His indignant, stubborn braying states louder than words: no further! As Heulwen scouts out their campsite, Lyr thrusts his hands into his armpits, feeling the cold that has seeped into his extremities for the first time.

"Cold. I'm not used to it... I-I've heard that it snows in this part of the world. Are you... are you from around here?"

He looks up as Aashya speaks to him, his narrow browns climbing in polite interest. Talking about the weather? It strikes him as a horribly prosaic way to start a conversation, but from the Sarcosan girl’s lips, it seems awkward and not at all artificial.

“I’m afraid it’s going to get worse. It’s only mid-autumn... still plenty of cold to come.” He frowns slightly. “I don’t think you... we... have to worry about the cold, though... it hasn’t snowed south of the Pellurian in, uhmm... seven years, or thereabouts.”

He stretches an arm out, pointing in what he thinks is a north-western direction.

“I was born... near Baden’s Bluff, about one hundred leagues in that direction. But I was raised, well,” Lyr suddenly looks pained as a wave of knotted emotions rises up like vomit inside him, but he forces it back down. The scars on his back itch horribly, and he shifts his shoulders uncomfortably under his tunic.

“I was raised... not so near the city.” He coughs, and adds, “it was a lonely sort of place. What about you? If you were born in the far south, you’re further from home than I. What brought you to Kingscross, and what out of it?” He looks down at the dark, lean young woman, meeting her gaze as best he can, and tries to inject some kindness into his tone.

[Kahluah]

Rhotha'ah

The cold doesn't effect the Dorn nearly as much as it does the Erenlanders or the Sarcosan, the blood of the Notherners keeping the chill away easier. Still, it can't keep the fatigue from his body, and that is what he feels the most.

As the company comes to a halt, Rhotha'ah sits himself atop a fallen tree next to the mule, stroking the animal's muzzle softly as Heulwen disappears, presumably looking for a camping ground for the evening. He would talk to someone, even the mule if it would listen, but the fact is it would require far too much effort than the large warrior could muster.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

She likes listening to Lyr talk. His manner is relatively easy-going, considering the circumstances, reminding her a little of her friend, Gylda.

There probably won't be snow any time soon, he says. A small part of her is childishly disappointed at that. And he's not exactly a local boy, hailing from a place that's leagues upon leagues away. He still might know something about Greenfield though. A change comes over him when he talks about where he was brought up. He becomes rigid and looks almost like he might be sick. But the tension is short-lived, and he goes on to ask about her.

She ought to have seen that coming.

A look of dismay crosses her face momentarily, and she lowers her gaze. It's not that she's ashamed exactly. But having to admit that she can only remember the last six months or so of her life makes her feel small and weak.

"Kingscross?" she asks, quickly skipping over any mention of where she was born. "I don't know where that is. I've been avoiding towns pretty much. Avoiding people too. It seemed wise, you know, since I'm a gir- er, woman traveling alone. Rathor said it would be better that way...... Um, Rathor's a gnome....... I'm, uh, from the river. I mean, I used to live with the gnomes. On the river."

She stops now that she's begun to babble, and looks around. Heulwen has gone off to look for a good place to camp. The big Northman is resting. Aleina seems to be tending to the donkey.

"I'm sorry," she says finally, taking a deep breath before continuing. "The gnomes were kind enough to take me in when I needed help. I lived with them for a while. But I had to leave... I have to find a place called Greenfield.

"I thought maybe since you people... well, you all seem to know where you're going. I thought maybe you would know something about it... what it's like....."

...what's so special about it that I can't get the name out of my head?

[Dirigible]

Lyr

Seeing her reaction - embarrassment? - Lyr wonders if he’s upset her somehow. This whole ‘talking to people’ thing is a rather new experience to him. Particularly gir-... women.

"Kingscross? I don't know where that is.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise. I’d assumed you where there, and I’d somehow missed you. Kingscross is a town that way,” he indicates the way they came, “where we, that is Dun, Aleina, Rhotha’ah and myself, met. Heulwen was keeping her distance, wisely, I thought.”

“I've been avoiding towns pretty much. Avoiding people too. It seemed wise, you know, since I'm a gir- er, woman traveling alone.”

He nods, noting that she looks as unarmed as he, but wears pretty jewelery - the silver arm band looks especially nice against her honey-coloured skin, and with those tattoos - concentrate, Lyr!. “Yes. That what I’ve been doing on my travels, mostly. Though I have found a few farmsteads willing to trust and trade, and Kingscross itself was a kind enough place.

“Rathor said it would be better that way...... Um, Rathor's a gnome....... I'm, uh, from the river. I mean, I used to live with the gnomes. On the river. I'm sorry. The gnomes were kind enough to take me in when I needed help. I lived with them for a while. But I had to leave... I have to find a place called Greenfield.”

He frowns. “Gnomes? Were you that desperate? Surely those collaborators are more likely to turn an outlaw over to her pursuers than aid her. You know deeply they’re in league with the orcs and the baalathtomei... uhh, the legates.” Light. Did I just say that? He cringes mentally, having used the shadow-priests secret, Black Tongue name for themselves. Just as, unbeknownst to him, Aashya had done a moment before, he rapidly changes the subject.

“Know where we're going?" He grins. "I don't know how you got that impression..."

"Greenfield, you say? Humm. I may have heard of it... I’ll need to consult my book.”

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

"...Surely those collaborators are more likely to turn an outlaw over to her pursuers than aid her..."

"I'm not an outlaw!"

I don't think I'm an outlaw. Could I be an outlaw?

Aashya's hand - the one not holding the torch aloft - strays protectively to her abdomen, and the scar (still tender after all this time) hidden under her layers of clothing.

"The gnomes aren't like that," she goes on, defiantly, vehemently. "You don't know them at all."

And what is that gibberish he's speaking? 'Ball-uth-tummy'- whatever...

But now the conversation is getting somewhere. He may have heard about Greenfield. He's taking something out of his pack. A book! Aashya stands quietly, more than a little in awe of it. She holds the torch closer to Lyr that he may see - that she may see - its pages better by its light.

[Dirigible]

Lyr

Lyr withdraws the large, leather-bound tome from the secret cloth pocket in his pack, performing his little maintenance ritual over it; smoothing the covers reverently, brushing grit from the brass cornerguards, adjusting the latch, before finally opening it and working his way through the thick, parchment pages. Already, his mind is assimilating all the new facts and tales he has learned today, and planning to add them to the book.

To Aashya, the pages are a welter of varied sketches, everything from the layout of a particular ruin to a perfect rendering of a feather; the watercourses of the northern plains in different shades of ink for the different seasons, and a detailed drawing of a crossbow’s trigger mechanism. Writing covers every inch of parchment without a drawing, Erenlander and a few bits of Trader’s Script, lettered in an elegant, careful hand Old legends rub serifs with scraps of mathematical calculation, endless lists of dates and measurements, first and second hand reports of everything under the sun.

"I'm not an outlaw!"

Was the Sarcosan any taller or more physically imposing than she is, Lyr would have flinched at the force in her voice. As always, he hates confrontation. He looks up from the lorebook, ready to apologize, but then stops -

“But, you’re traveling.” He explains gently. “That’s against the Occupier’s law. They like us to stay where we are put.”

"The gnomes aren't like that. You don't know them at all."

“Well... no, I’ve never actually met a gnome.” Or even anyone who’s met one himself... it was always a friend of this man who met my brother-in-law... “Perhaps you’re right. I’m sorry. I was working from what I’ve read and heard...” He ducks his head apologetically.

He doesn’t say what a nasty part of his mind adds: If it comes to a choice in believing what’s in my books or the word of a confused girl... I choose my books, each and every time!

Lyr returns his attention to the book, thumbing through it for any information about Greenfield... and following that, this man they call ‘the Hound’. Perhaps tales of men or creatures that can track through mystic means, other than sniffer-demons?

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

"But, you’re traveling. That’s against the Occupier’s law. They like us to stay where we are put."

This is true, and Aashya knew it even before she protested. She is not where she is supposed to be, and that would mean big trouble for her if she were caught. But she still hadn't considered herself to be an Outlaw before now.

She feels herself scowling, and realizes that her anger is making the poor scholar uncomfortable. It was the 'gnomes-are-collaborators' remark that did it. People always want to believe that the gnomes are in cahoots with the Shadow. No. That isn't true. The gnomes themselves want people to believe that they're in cahoots with the Shadow. That's how they protect themselves. It was foolish, and nearly a betrayal, for Aashya to say otherwise. She lets her anger dissipate, easily done with Lyr being so conciliatory. She says nothing further about her old rescuers.

Lyr turns back to the book. Aashya watches his eyes flick back and forth, up and down, as he scans the parchment pages. The pictures draw the young Sarcosan's attention. There's one drawing of a plant with tiny clusters of bell-shaped flowers labelled Sweet Woodruff.

The leaves may be used to make May Wine.

Aashya is astonished to realize that she is able to read the Erenlander script! She mouths the words slowly as she looks over Lyr's shoulder.

Look for the herb in meadows and ......

Too slow. Lyr is already turning the page. Aashya continues to read snippets of mostly meaningless lore, delighted with her newly discovered skill, while Lyr thumbs through the book.

[Cadrius]

There is a very good reason the Westlands is not heavily populated: it isn't particularly hospitable. The villages that occasionally dot the landscape are small oases. Much of the great plains are dry through the year, with dust storms more common than rain. The wind is picking up now, sending shards of blade grass whipping through the air. Those with cloaks wrap themselves in the cloth and put their backs to the wind to ward themselves from both the chill and the bits of dried grass. Blade grass is not as sharp as a blade, but it can cut.

The young scholar is right, it hasn't snowed south of the sea of Pelluria in eight years, but if the weather continues to be as cool as it is tonight, snowflakes might just dot the Westlands come the Arc of Hisha.

Heulwen

Heulwen hunches her shoulders while Cytaill moves her away from the others. She keeps her body close to the wogren who seems to neither mind the cold nor the blade grass. A fine cloud of dust, proppeled by the wind, passes over them, leaving a light coating of dirt on the pair.

Squinting in the darkness, Heulwen cannot find much in the way of shelter. No copses of banock trees can be seen. Yet it's probably just as well. The banock trees host a wealth of life, and she knows that where there's life, there's predators. The last thing they need is to come across a pride of grass cats. One of the fellow, no, former slaves bore the scars from an encounter with one of the beasts. The flesh on his side had been raked open and had puckered instead of healing smoothly. When asked how he survived, the old halfling had chuckled and looked around at the slave camp.

"Guess I was just lucky."

The land is fairly flat but at last she spies a spot to get out of the wind and sight. It isn't so much a valley as a depression in the landscape, but it will have to serve. Things could get ugly if they were caught in a dust storm while sleeping in the open. Yet if a dust storm does happen it would obscure their tracks. She ponders the benefits while weaving back and forth between thatches of tall blade grass.

Lyr

Greenfield. The name seems only dimly familiar to Lyr, but after studying Pitas's maps he'd be surprised if there was a town of note in Aeryth that he hadn't have heard of, even if he knew nothing about it. Yet the name of the town fails to spark any knowledge.

Heulwen and Cytail are engulfed by the darkness within a few moments of their passing and Lyr takes this brief respite to flip through one of his books. The man has grown used to carrying them that he's almost to the point of forgetting that he would be at the very least be beaten should he be caught with them.

Like the others he puts his back to the wind, but more out of concern for protecting his book from the blade grass and dirt than for his own comfort. Pages flick under his fingers while he searches for Greenfield. Minutes pass and he almost closes the book in frustration before coming across a brief passage mentioning the village. Apparently the remnants of the crushed noble family Fairfax fled to Greenfield after Izrador's victory. Beyond that, he cannot find anything of note.

All

It isn't long before the halfling returns, having found a spot with a little shelter. She leads them back toward it, half of those following her are almost dead on their feet. Dun nearly falls into blade grass as tall as his shoulder, but Lyr's grabs the young man by his sleeve and steadies him. They need rest and they need it now. Fortunately the spot isn't too far away.

Aleina is dead to the world. Cowl pulled tightly about her her mind attacks the problem at hand: what has the Hound done to the Healer, to Lucien? The words had seemed familiar, but she hadn't recognized the spell then. She wracks her brain in hindsight, trying to recall the words, trying to put meaning to them. The Hound had done something to the Healer's mind, that much is clear, but the specifics elude her. She doesn't think it should be permanent. Perhaps the best thing for him is sleep. Casting a glance at the Healer she sees he's fallen asleep, pitched forward, his arms are wrapped loosely around Bombur's neck.

The dip in the plains gives them a little shelter from the cold and the bits of sharp grass. It doesn't appear comfortable, but to the weary nine it feels as good as any feather bed. Mechanically the healer dismounts and promptly curls up on the ground and within moments he's asleep once more.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Unsaddling Cytaill once everyone is in the small depression, Heulwen looks at the others, appraising their condition. With this many people and the possibility of the Hound on their trail they would need to set a watch.

Aleina, Dun, and Rhotha'ah look almost dead on their feet. None of them would be any good for either a watch or travel for many hours. Lyr and Aashya are in about the same shape as herself, which is to say, in need of sleep, but capable of staying up a bit longer. The healer, well, he was still in some kind of trance. There was little chance that he'd be taking any kind of watch anytime soon.

Looking up at the sky, Heulwen notes the position of the stars and moon. Still several hours to daybreak, but not enough that they would be able to get moving when the sun came up. As a group they were simply too tired.

"I'll take first watch," Heulwen states simply, "my eyes are the best at night and most of the rest of you need to sleep. I'll wake Aashya and Lyr in a few hours. The rest of you can take a final short watch after the sun's up. You'll be able to see as well as I can then.

[Cadrius]

The others, including Cytaill, are quickly asleep. Each laying a short distance from another companion. It isn't cold enough tonight to warrant huddling for body heat, instead they gather a sense of safety, a sense of security, amidst a rather tough land. Yet the Hound is out there, likely furious at the escape of his quarry. Even now they can almost feel him hunting them down like a dornish hunter persuing a wounded boro.

Heulwen settles herself in for a lonely four hours. It's the dead of night and nothing stirs across their patch of the Westlands but for the blowing wind. She notices it rarely actually stops, it merely blows harder or softer. The fine coat of dirt she'd collected while scouting is quickly replenished. Yet her watch passes and nothing goes amiss. No Hound flanked by an orcish warband, nothing. She isn't certain whether she should be relieved or worried.

Aashya and Lyr wake easily enough. Neither look to have slept well on the rough ground. They aren't used to travel yet it seems, especially not in the Westlands.

Grateful to rest her weary body, Heulwen curls up next to Cytaill and falls asleep. The two on watch look at each other and settle in for a chill, windy night.

[Dirigible]

Lyr

Lyr rises from the bundle of blankets he slept under, stretching his aching shoulders and trying to work out the stiffness the ground seemed to have transfered to him by osmosis. Grimacing at the nippy air, he stoops and picks up the cloak he had been using as a pillow, shakes the grit off it and wraps it tighty around himself. His dark, somber eyes are bagged and limmed in sleep and his hair is dishevelled.

For a few minutes, he pads around the camp, familiarising himself with its layout and the immediate area. Satisfied, he returns to the point picked out for the watchers. When Aashya joins him, he speaks to her in a low voice:

"I'm afraid that there is little my notes can tell you about Greenfield. I found an oblique reference to the survivors of a noble family seeking sanctuary there after the Last Battle, but other than that," he gives her an apologetic smile, "...I can't even point you in the right direction." He gives her an I-Wish-I-Could-Help look, and then falls quiet.

As the night wears on, Lyr has to fight to stay awake. He rests his chin on his knees, listening to the night around him, but in time forgets to do even this. He begins to file and sort his thoughts in the way he was always taught to, putting them into order and words that he can scribe into his lorebook when dawn comes around. He exchanges small talk with Aashya if she brings it up, but otherwise sits quietly, lost in his thoughts.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Hunched, and wrapped in their cloaks, Aashya and Lyr look like odd bundles propped up among the sleeping forms of their companions. They occupy opposites sides of the camp to keep their watch, Aashya choosing the side that has Bombur in it. The donkey's body radiates a little heat and manages to block some of the chill wind that blows relentlessly down into the hollow. And oddly, there's something vaguely comforting about his animal smell. It reminds her of........ something good.

To keep awake, she goes over the night's events in her mind, from the boom of thunder out of the clear sky, to her conversation with Lyr before they reached camp. She remembers Heulwen's deadly aim, Aleina's graceful calm, Dun's cautious glances, and the big Northman's weapons worn in the open. Lyr said that they all met in Kingscross, and the way he said it made her think that they had met relatively recently.

How did the Healer fit into the picture? She should have asked Lyr, but after saying too much about the gnomes, Aashya had been reluctant to open her mouth again. She had barely mumbled a hasty 'thanks' to the scholar for the scanty information on Greenfield he'd gleaned from his book, before scooting away to her watch position for the rest of the night.

Aashya lifts her head, and scans the dark perimeter of the camp again. It should be dawn soon, or so Heulwen had said when she'd woken her. There's no glimmer of pale morning light yet, however.......

[Cadrius]

Aashya

The few hours before dawn always have a timeless quality to them and Aashya learns this tonight. Has she ever been awake at this hour before? She isn't sure, but she doubts it. The sky expands overhead but it seems to be getting darker. Stars are blotted out by rolling clouds coming from the west. She blanches at the sight, as if it needs to be any harder to see.

Lyr's upright form is nearby but she can tell from his slow, deep breath that he's fallen asleep with his body propped up against his belongings. Watching the scholar reminds Aashya of her literacy; she smiles at the thought. A peasant wouldn't know how to read, not a normal one anyway. But if not a peasant then what? A merchant's daughter? A noblewoman's servant? Her ability to read opens up a world of questions for the young woman.

Lost in her thoughts Aashya doesn't notice the slow creep of pre-dawn light spreading through the sky. The clouds that arrived earlier have now made it overhead and stretch like tendrils toward the east. She hopes it won't rain.

Dawn comes not with a blaze of sunlight, but with a lightening of the land. The sky is fully overcast when Aashya, weary from a very stressful night, wakes Dun and Rhotha'ah. The dorn is particularly drowsy and she has to shake the man's shoulder forcefully to rouse him. When she moves to put a hand on Aleina she sees the woman's eyes are already open.

The two notice the healer has awoken and is sitting upright, scratching his jaw.