Chapter 4 - Hallowtide

[Dirigible]

Lyr

"He's right, Aleina..." Lyr says quietly. "Even when driven by..." he hesitates, tasting bile, but presses on through the nausea "...lust, the Fell must eat."

He drops into a fugue state of thought for a few moments, surfacing only when the young children approach Aleina and himself. He turns his gaze to the channeler after they speak.

"Well? Are we? If so, I think we had best rendezvous with our better-armed friends." He adds the last in Colonial, hoping to avoid any suspicious ears here, where most tongues speak the languages of plains, river and snowy realms to the North.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

She trains her unsettling eyes on the two boys, torn between offering them false hope or robbing them of even that small comfort. Beside her, she can feel Lyr's distaste as his gaze turns toward her, seeking direction. All of them, looking to her for answers, for wisdom.

What made any of them think so highly of her? Kingscross was burned, Feyd had sacrificed himself, Lucien fled on his own, hunted. Her feeble attempts and inexpert fumblings had not altered the outcomes at all, perhaps only served to endanger those still travelling with her.

You will see light in the darkness.

She had to believe that, had to believe that she could make a difference, that her visions were more than just a window into the inevitable. There were men and women still with the mettle to oppose the Shadow in the North.

"We will see, and more than that I will not say now."

[Cadrius]

Heulwen, Aashya

Aashya’s body has a far better memory than her mind. Each of her movements feels as if she’d done it several hundred times. She moves from one to the next without thought or planning. However, after a few minutes, she becomes aware of Soradur edging away from Heulwen and Rhotha’ah and toward her. The drawf’s attempt at stealth is noble but futile.

Realizing Aashya’s awareness, he clears his throat. “What are you doing?”

Heulwen sits on a half-rotted stump, Cytaill sitting comfortably nearby. Although a creature of the plains, the halfling knows when something is wrong. These woods look and sound normal to her senses. There are birds in the trees, although not many. Squirrels freeze on their way, watching the group to see if they are predators, before eventually moving on. Still, it’s hard to shake the feeling that there’s something odd here. That the ground could house the walking dead would be the easy answer, but she doesn’t think that’s it.

“How’d you find him?” Rhotha’ah asks, taking a few practice swings with his sword.

[Cadrius]

Dun

“Aye. Headed north are you?” Callum asks before quickly adding. “Not that it’s any business of mine. Let’s see what I can do…” Callum continues mumbling to himself while disappearing into the back room.

“Pardon me, lad,” Loruk says, swinging his club foot in an awkward fashion as he walks. “I’d be careful heading north. We just got word that a town was burned.” He smiles without humor. “Fire seems to plague this area.”

A few minutes later, Callum returns with a few thin woolen blankets. While lacking in large moth-eaten holes, they will only provide minimal warmth, particularly if they really do go north. While the weather is mild most years, it’s snowed south of the Pellurian twice in the past decade, something that is unheard of to most. The innkeeper sets to gathering a bit of food: two-day old bread, some dry fish, and few small dry apples.

“That’ll do, I think,” Callum says, nodding to himself. “Looks like a feast to me. Not that I’d know.”

[Cadrius]

Aswad

Qutaybah would know. The rakish Sarcosan always did possess a gilded tongue, and brandy only served to loosen it. His mischief was infectious, and Aswad had found himself dragged along in Qutaybah’s wake, despite knowing better.

But that was a lifetime ago.

The tailor’s frown deepens, but the sight of the needles causes his mouth to twitch. “I…small food? Little food? Yes. You wait here.” He disappears into his shop, closing the door behind him. Aswad can hear the bolt slide home. Yet a few moments later it slides back and the tailor comes back with some coarse brown bread and a bit of pale white cheese. He gives Aswad another appraising look, perhaps trying to decide if the Sarcosan will try and gut him should he leave the relative safety of his home. The temptation of the needles is too strong though and he cautiously approaches Aswad, watching him for any sign of sudden movement. He offers the meager meal.

“Farmer? Where are you from?”

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"Hmm?" Heulwen looks up suddenly, startled by the large man's question. "Cytaill? I don't know that you could say that I 'found' him."

Her inate sense of caution taking over, Heulwen's mouth closes and she gives the dorn an appraising look. How much did she trust him? If she told him her story, would he think less of her for it? She doubted that he'd run to tell it to the nearest legate, but what if he was caught? Would he attempt to barter her story for his life?

And then there was the feeling that something wasn't right here. Was it really safe to talk of such things in this place where Fell smelled of fire and attempted to take young girls into the ground with them.

Changing the subject, Heulwen focuses on the feeling of not rightness, and tries to pin it down.

"Do you feel that? Something isn't quite right here."

[-J-]

Aswad

“Farmer? Where are you from?”

Dal Sahaad hates me... Aswad controls his breathing as he carefully drops the needles into the tailors outstretched hand. What was the name of the town...Kingscross? He pauses a second as he carefully takes the offered bread and cheese. No, that place was just recently burned. He hungrily digs into the bread, as he searches his memory. What was that one place...up river from Zorgetch...Abu Kal?

"Abu Kal," he says between mouthfuls of bread. At least he didn't have to fake his hunger, one less thing to worry about. Got to come up with a reason why I'm here... "Sometimes Gnomes let Aswad work on boat," he takes another bite. "Sometimes not," he adds with a shrug.

[Berova]

Dun

Dun's ears perked up when Callum mentioned word of a town north of here having burned, "You wouldn't per chance know the name of that town, would ya?" Dun pauses for a quick moment before asking, "Me da', he didn't head that way did he?"

As the proprietor brings out the woolen blankets and bit of food, Dun was appreciative of the provisions Callum provided in exchange for the tobacco. "Much obliged for the bed as well as food and blankets, Callum."

When everything was packed (secured for travel), Dun turned to Aleina and Lyr, "Ready."

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

The channeler nods at Dun, her heart once again torn by the weight of decision. Consequences, always, no matter the choosing. Steeling herself, she tries to put it out of her mind. Her gaze once more finds the two boys and she discovers that things are not so easily forgotten.

Do not abandon hope.

The thought stays in her head, though. They would take it to mean hope for their lost loved ones, hope which was most likely misplaced. Perserverance in the face of hopelessness would serve them better.

"Whatever happens, you must go on. To do otherwise is to throw away the only meaning to this life."

She doesn't look at Lyr or Dun as she turns, her eyes carefully avoiding the necessity of meeting their gaze. She answers Dun's question, her voice steady.

"Yes. We are already here overlong."

[Cadrius]

Aswad

The tailor had cleared away quickly enough, leaving Aswad to his thoughts once again. He felt uneasy walking down the street, misliking how quiet and dead the town feels. The windows of most buildings are dark, and the few shops have their doors firmly closed.

In fact, the only sign of life he sees after the tailor is a group of Erenlanders and a pair of boys walking away from him and out of town. It looks to him like they’re headed toward the woods. Aswad comes to a stop and glances at the inn, before returning his gaze to the disappearing forms.

[Cadrius]

Lyr, Aleina, Dun

Loruk didn’t know the name of the village, having only heard the news from a small boat that had briefly put into Fairbrook this morning. Shalm had grunted at the news. “If it ain’t on the Eren, it ain’t important.” Dun slides the food into his bag and takes the thin blankets outside to the others.

The two boys, still enamored by Aleina, eagerly volunteer to lead the trio to the farmhouse that the men had set off toward.

They’re met just outside the farmhouse and its adjoining barn by the half-dozen men that had left the One-Eyed Fish earlier. They are hardly pleased to see the outsiders, and one curses softly at the boys, but they show Dun, Lyr, and Aleina around to the barn all the same.

“I should’ve gone out instead,” one man says. “But I was busy fixing the table. She said…” his voice thickens with emotion but he forces the words out. “She said she’d take care of it. She’s always taking care of things…”

It’s a mess inside the barn. Crude furniture inside has been tipped over and straw is strewn across the floor. The three slowly walk through the barn. To the side of the entrance, Dun notices a few drops of blood. Meanwhile, Lyr finds several long strands of dark hair draped across an overturned stool. The woman was not taken without a fight.

Outside, it begins to rain.

[Dirigible]

Lyr

"Hospitality is like ale," Lyr says diplomatically to Callum as he retrieves his satchel. "Each town brews its own, and each is convinced that it's is the best. It was an honour to have sampled yours."

He doesn't tarry to find out if Callum is sharper than he makes out; sharp enough to read the veiled criticism in his proverb.

What right do I have to be bitter towards these people? he wonders as the three youths slouch towards the farmhouse. They gave us more than we merited or paid for.

The locals lead them to the barn, but one of them blocks Lyr's access with his broad shoulders. He looks down at the scholar, his face hardening contemptuously. Lyr moves as if to slip past, but the man refuses to budge. Eventually, the Erenlander walks a wide path around the obstructive farmer, dejectedly.

The barn looks and smells of horror.

Beyond the smell of hay and animals, Lyr fancies he can still scent the burning flesh of the taking-Fell. He fervently hopes this is just imagination, however. He begins absently straightening the furniture, eyes scanning the dirt of the floor for anything that might have been dropped in the struggle. As he picks up the stool, he feels the hair tickling his palm, and bends to examine them, checking if they are snagged on a splinter or actually laid on the seat.

"Dun, I don't suppose you have a wildlander's staff hidden in you pack?" he asks, just as the rain starts to patter down. He sighs, reflecting that the Spirits of Weather do, in fact, hate him and all his kind. "Never mind. We'd need Cytail's nose to follow them now."

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Step forward. Quietly, as a cat walks.

Ward off. Roll back. Shift to the side.

"What are you doing?"

"Huh?"

Aashya pauses, standing with her palms held open and out as if pushing an imaginary opponent away. Soradur - she'd been watching him approach out of the corner of her eye - had finally decided to speak.

"Oh. I'm doing er... exercises, I guess you could call them. Forms. They help me learn balance, unity.

"See, this one is called Scorpion's Tail. I don't know why!"

I don't know how I know these exercises either, she thinks as she demonstrates the form - a set of movements that ends in a lunge with one arm arched over her head. But she is reminded of the men from her latest flash of recollection - the men she has only a hazy memory of, walking through the Far Lands Market in Sharuun. No, not men. One man. The man who taught her the forms and their names.

"Osrick."

But as quickly as the name lights on her tongue, it flees again, taking with it the half-formed image of a man's craggy features. Dark, hawk-like eyes... No, they are gone now. She can't recall the man, or his face.

Aashya sighs. "That's enough for now, I think. I feel very relaxed after all that, and somehow ready for anything. Soradur, I could teach the movements to you and we could do them together in the mornings. There are more, I think, meant to be done in pairs; you know, with a sparring partner. Would you like that?"

[Cadrius]

Heulwen

“This whole place is wrong,” he says. “I know that some must be weak but these people…” he trails off, shrugging. Rhotha’ah is the pinnacle of all that is Dornish—strong, proud, and stubborn to a fault. Heulwen imagines that if it were up to him, he’d run through the woods screaming a bloody challenge to the fell that lurk within. If she has any sort of bead on the dwarf, he’d likely follow suit. “They should have been here by now. They were to leave at first light, yes?”

Overhead, rain begins to fall, pattering against the canopy of leaves. It was strange to see it threatening to rain for so long and clouds’ release strikes the halfling as strangely comforting. Perhaps not all is wrong with this stretch of Aryth.

[Cadrius]

Lyr, Aleina, Dun

“Come on, Graham,” another man says, guiding the distraught and potentially bereaved husband aside. “You still have that skin from Sweet Water?” Graham nods. “Why don’t we go have a drink, eh?”

The group of men leaves the Erenlanders through a sliding aside a wooden door, disappearing into the house. The two boys stand just inside the door, awe-struck by the scene.

[Cadrius]

Aswad

He feels both foolish and wise, skulking through this quiet village. Very little stirs from building to building. Shoulders slumped and stooping, he occasionally spots movement from within a rickety house or a badly weathered shop, but no one else roams the streets. He feels foolish for maintaining his act. In a place such as this, he will draw attention no matter the guise. On the other hand, he feels more comfortable playing the beggar while in an unfamiliar environment. If he were to be challenged, he would seem less threatening as a poor farmer.

Pursuing the trio and their boy escorts is done easily enough. They move at a fair pace but do not seem concerned about someone following them. Aswad remains well back, keeping them just in sight.

Rain begins to fall, wetting his shoulders and head, and he comes to a stop at the edge of a field of corn still a hundred feet from the house.

[Cadrius]

Aashya

The dwarf blinks in surprise at her offer. “Back home, everyone trains. Men, women, children. From the time they’re old enough to heft an axe or hold a spear steady, we learn to fight. Didn't think it was the same with your folk though. I thought you human women were supposed to be soft?” He delivers the verbal jab with a wink from his weathered face. Soradur purses his lips, considering the Scorpion’s Tail. “Never did anything like that.”

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"That's not quite what I meant," Heulwen replies, "Trading for supplies can sometimes take a while. A small delay is nothing. Its these woods that trouble me."

Not having a proper rain cloak, Heulwen shifts her position so that the trees will keep most of the rain off of her. She was used to getting soaked in the rain, but found that the leather armor she wore under her clothing chaffed and bound when wet. It was very uncomfortable and she prefered to stay as dry as possible as a result.

"There is more to these woods than just the strange Fell we fought last night. Something does not feel natural."

Knowing that the rain will wash most of the smells of the forest out of the air, Heulwen slowly turns her head about, noting the smells before they are gone.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

"Soft...?" Aashya echoes the dwarf's descriptive word, wondering what human women really are like because, stopping to think about it, she can't remember having known any before meeting Aleina. Gnome women, yes. She knew lots of those. Were they soft? Well, they worked hard on the rafts, as hard as the men; but she didn't think that any of the ones she knew ever did any fighting.

"We're supposed to be soft, eh? Well...

"The soft and pliable will defeat the hard and strong."

The words just come to her, but she knows that they are not her own. She'd had them drummed into her, had heard them repeated many, many times, can hear them in her head right now. And the voice that speaks them is clear in her mind, as clear as Soradur's voice is in her ears. She stands silent for a moment, smiling, her fingers lightly tracing the hammered silver band that encircles her upper arm. She remembers his voice...

Soradur clears his throat and Aashya's thoughts come back to the here and now.

"Um.. right. See, the idea is to be perfectly balanced and relaxed. You don't resist an oncoming force; you meet it, you follow along with it until it exhausts itself or you can redirect it.

"Let's try it. You come at me and I'll show you how it works."

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

She ignores the dark looks they draw, eyes focused ahead, on the barn looming before them. The interior is dim, the shadows that swim on the edges of her vision hold seething, threatening shapes. There is a faint, pervasive scent - unpleasant, sickly, reminiscent of rotten meat and stale breath.

Aleina stands in the center of the building, noting Lyr and Dun as they commence their search, absently aware of the still gawking youths. Another woman, gone, disappeared to who knew what end. She was not sure what scared her more: the thought of leaving the girl to her fate or the thought of finding her.

She breathes deep, eyes unfocused, her mind questing. What had happened here? A long moment, vision tunnelled . . .

Aleina exhales, long and slow. She turns towards the boys.

"Leave us for a moment."

When the barn is empty save for the three of them, she calls Lyr and Dun over to confer. Her whispered voice is steady.

"Heulwen might be able to follow the trail. Or Rhotha'ah. I do not want to travel with the townfolk in any case. What would you do?"

[Cadrius]

Aashya

Soradur takes a few half-hearted swipes at Aashya. She brushes them aside with ease, twisting her body and using her hands to gently guide the dwarf’s stout arms toward empty air. He grunts in surprise, expecting to easily seize hold of her wrist or forearm.

While Aashya has height and reach on the dwarf, being several hands taller, he must outweigh her by at least 5 stone, if not more. She chides Soradur for such a lackluster effort and he redoubles the attack.

“Wouldn’t be so hard if you’d just stay still,” he complains.

Step by step, she feels herself edging closer and closer to the trunk of a tree, likely by dwarf’s design. As her heel touches upon a thick root sticking out of the earth, she launches herself into a roll, passing beneath her opponent’s arm. She comes to her feet several paces away and backs away from the dwarf. He whirls around, his thick eyebrows raised.

“You’re quick, lass. I’ll give you that,” he says. “But I don’t see what this has to do with resistance.”

Aashya shrugs. “Charge me then.”

Soradur looks dubious while Aashya takes several steps backward. Play-fighting is one thing to the dwarf, but the prospect of actually colliding with her makes him nervous. However, curiosity—and Aashya’s assurance that he’ll never touch her—gets the better of him. Soradur squares his shoulders and backs up a few steps. Launching himself forward, he barrels down on Aashya. She stands perfectly still, hands down at her sides until the last moment.

For the dwarf, any foe would try to meet him head on and break his rush. Aashya does not, and could not, weather such an impact. She catches him completely unaware. One hand snakes out and grabs his arm as she allows herself to fall to the ground ahead of the dwarf. She plants a foot on his thigh and pushes up and away, sending the dwarf sailing through the air, a victim of his own momentum. The sight of the fifteen stone Soradur flying is almost as comical as the expression on his face. Complete surprise is writ across his normally stony features.

The dwarf crashes to the ground with a grunt. Her hand still holding onto his arm, Aashya spins herself around on the forest floor. Kicking out with one foot at the dwarf’s head, she stops her foot a finger’s width from his temple.

“Soft?” she asks.

Soradur’s chest hitches and she thinks the air has been knocked out of him, but moments later the dwarf’s deep rumbling laughter begins to boom out of him as he lies amidst the dirt and fallen leaves.

[Cadrius]

Heulwen

The onset of rain awakens the smell of dirt. The earthy smell is pleasing, but something lingers beneath it that causes her to wrinkle her nose—fear. It’s so faint that she has to pause and close her eyes, shutting out the rest of the world. Yes, it’s fear, but it’s old. More importantly, the cloying stench that accompanied the charred fell does not hang heavy in the air like it did the night in the woods the night before.

Her concentration is broken by a heavy crash nearby. A few moments later she hears Soradur’s unmistakable laugh; it’s the same deep sound of rocks clacking together.

[Cadrius]

Aswad

While caution rules the day, Aswad’s curiosity is piqued. It is clear that the trio is not from this town. Even at a distance their manner of dress varies too much from the likes of the others he’s seen living along the Eren. Strangers they must be, but their intent remains hidden to the Sarcosan.

Hassaf, called the Fox by the other riders, had often tried to teach him of the nature of silence and Aswad proved to be a quick study. The two had made a game out of it. In turn they would attempt to steal up upon the other. If one could lay a blade across the other’s shoulder, they counted it as a point. In the end, the Fox’s quiet feet could not save him. Before being hacked into bloody chunks by orcs, Hassaf had been winning with five and twenty to Aswad’s ten.

Remembering his old friend’s words, Aswad covers the distance between the cornfield and the house quickly. He keeps low. At this point any eyes that light upon him will know he does not belong.

Coming to a stop, he crouches beneath a small window and keeps his back against the house. The woods are still several hundred paces distant. The rain is cold and he wouldn’t mind taking shelter under the boughs of the trees. However, the sound of children’s voices, coming from around the corner and drawing near, causes him to freeze in place.

[Berova]

Dun

Ignoring the dark shadows and pungent odor, Dun tried to push aside the horror that occurred here from his mind. He did not have to contemplate much to guess what happened, it was all too plain to see.

Dun nodded at Aleina's sentiment though he was skeptical of Heulwen's abilities, "With the rain startin', even Cytail would be hard pressed to stay on a blood trail under such circumstances. My sense is those townfolk will have little, if any, desire to follow where the trail leads, let alone keep company with us 'outsiders'. Let us thank the two boys for leadin' us to the farmhouse and be on our way. We best find the others quickly."

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

The crash brings Heulwen to her feet, bow in hand and arrow nocked just as fast as she can make it possible. Scanning the area, the source of the sound registers after a moment and Heulwen visibly relaxes, placing the arrow back in her quiver.

She does not resume her seat, however. The combination of the lingering strangeness in the air and the sudden arousal caused by the dwarf's fall have adreniline coursing through her veins. Fingering the hilt of her sword Heulwen moves over to where Cytaill is sitting.

"You must sense it too, don't you friend? Something is not right here, though what I can't quite put my finger on. Even if this is the wilds where we are somewhat safer we must keep out wits about us."

Realizing that she's ignoring the dorn, Heulwen turns to face him, trying to work out what to say.

"Cytaill was the sole survivor of halfling village that was razed. He was seriously injured in the attack and the orcs captured him, hoping to make him fight dogs for their blood sport. They assigned me to see that he recovered well enough to fight. I'm glad to say that I did that and a bit more."

[Dirigible]

Lyr

"I think you're underestimating the wogren's nose, Dun," Lyr says absently, staring at a series of vertical scuff-marks on the wall, wondering if they signify part of the scuffle or merely an ill-tempered cow. "I've read that they can smell the very presence of the Lost, or of an Astirax."

Without looking around, he directs his words to Aleina: "That seems like the best course of action."

[Berova]

Dun

"You may well be proved to be right. Huelwen's is the first Wogren I've seen ever, let alone up close."

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

"Then it is decided."

She exits the barn, her mind a dark place filled with the withered forms of loss and regret. Her face stays calm. She will not let the townfolk - the boys - know how unlikely she deemed it that any of the women were alive. She thanks them for their hospitality, tells them that if she or her companions find any sign they will bring tidings, and then departs.

This had been no Kingscross, where things had seemed almost tranquil. Her thoughts darken further, knowing how it ended there. The penalty of complacency, of trying to live a normal life.

Feyd.

Her heart aches. Had there been a moment when she had forgotten how horribly twisted this world was?

Fairbrook was different - a town resigned to the reality of the world, all joy gone yet managing to survive. She hates herself for thinking that there is a lesson in that.

[-J-]

Aswad

Aswad hugs the edge of the barn as he quietly moves to a better spot. From inside the barn he can hear the soft voices of the strangers.

Wogren, Lost and Astiraxes...interesting.

There is a subtle change in the wind, and the pleasant scent of rain soaked earth is laced with the smell of charred flesh. His nose wrinkles, and the muscles along his jaw tighten.

He can feel the rage building.

Images of Kingscross burn in his mind...images of orcs hacking apart everyone he ever knew...images of a fair woman charring on the pyre...

Calm...

He softly exhales letting his anger flow out of him.

Now is not the time...

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Aashya laughs too, feeling the joyful exhilaration of her success. So this is what all those half-remembered movements and exercises were all about! She gets back to her feet, brushing away the bits of crumbling leaves that cling to her tunic. Soradur lies in a clump of damp ferns, still chuckling.

"The Mountain meets the Valley," Aashya says smiling. She reaches out a hand to help the dwarf up.

If only the orcs had been so easy...

She remembers the dark, and the torches, and the screams again. And the fear.

The fear had unbalanced her that night, making her feel heavy and clumsy and uncertain. She'd forgotten everything she'd been taught, all in one moment. She had nearly run away. Not that running would've done her any good.

"No, stand and fight!" Ganesh's voice had been harsh with strain but had steadied her. Ganesh was someone dear... her brother? Yes. She'd turned toward the sound of his voice, but couldn't find him in the confusion of fire and death.

Then she had fought, awkward with desperation at first, but with increasing assurance. She'd knocked some orcs off their feet, but there were always more. And there had been that one orc in among the horses, near the river. The one with the broad, heavy sword...

"Lass?" Soradur asks, his hard calloused hand gripping hers, pulling her back from the past. "You still with us?"

"Yes," Aashya finally answers. "I was remembering something. I... I still need more practice."

[Dirigible]

Lyr

Lyr's eyebrows quirk marginally, shaping themselves into a curve not unlike the longbow of the man that consumes Aleina's thoughts. He glances at Dun, not expressing any suspicions, but assessing his friend's reaction.

Regardless, he follows her out of the barn. Outside, it seems... warmer, despite the weather. Lyr crosses his arms, hugging his elbows. Murder and terror seem to have left a deficit of heat in the building.

So. We go and find Rhotha'ah and Aashya. Oh, and Heulwen. Cytail tracks these unnatural Fell, and we end them. He shivers, now, not from the cold, but from the simple ugliness of the notion. That's not much of a plan. There must be more we can learn, better ways to prepare...

As the group moves off, Lyr addresses them. “I shall remain behind while you gather our companions. If I can learn more about the nature of these ghastly beings, there whereabouts and vulnerabilities, or their past, I shall. It may give us a much-needed advantage.”

Unless the others complain, he quietly takes his leave, finding a private place to consult his Lorebook and wrack his brains regarding the burning Fell, their hunger for brides, the tale of the treacherous priest and the history of Fairbrook itself.

[Cadrius]

Aleina, Dun, Heulwen, Aashya

A short time later, as the rain intensifies upon the boughs above, Aleina and Dun come upon their companions in the woods. Grim they look, hands resting warily upon their weapons. The tension eases as they recognize their Erenlander friends, but only somewhat. The playfulness between Soradur and Aashya has long since passed, with the Sarcosan woman lost within her shattered memories.

“Where is Lyr?” Rhotha’ah, asks.

[Cadrius]

Lyr

There are but two sounds within the barn: the patter of rain upon the thatch roof and the crinkle of yellowed pages as he flips through his small library of tomes. Dark are his studies as he pours over all the available knowledge of the hungry dead. Fortunately for him, his former keeper was quite curious about the nature of the Fell, scrawling many notes in the margins where one book was incomplete in its breadth.

More than one breed of Fell exists, as he learns, eyes flicking back and forth across the pages. The most common is known across Eredane. Several in ten will rise if measures are not taken to stop their rise. Decapitation is the most efficient, albeit gruesome, manner of keeping the dead at rest. Some prefer pyres while others entomb their dead. Those that dwell upon the Eren and the Pellurian will often weigh down their dead with stones, but this solution merely traps the dead until they are able to escape their bonds. The aquatic fell of the Great Grey are a particular menace, marching out of the inland ocean at night and devouring entire villages.

The Fell that lurk within the woods outside of Fairbrook are of a different variety altogether. Fell rise on their own with a ravenous hunger for living flesh, but those that are killed in particularly vicious or unjust manner will often revive with a singular purpose. Why these men would try and claim women from the village for some foul purpose is beyond Lyr.

Unless…the legate!

[Cadrius]

Aswad

Rage burns through him with all the heat of a summer’s day in Sharuun. Indignation at the butchery of innocent men, women, and children stirs a deep-seated anger within the Sarcosan man. But he suppresses it...for now.

He draws himself into a small, unobservable ball as a man and woman leave the barn and disappear into the woods. Where the third member of their party is, he does not know. Still in the barn, he guesses, but the barn and the house are connected and he knows there are still several men inside the farmstead.

Gooseflesh ripples across his arms and legs as Aswad sits alone in the cold autumn rain.

[Berova]

Dun

Dun scanned his companions and whispered under his breath, "Yer all a sight fer sore eyes... " In response to his blood brother's question, Dun replied, "Lyr asked to remain a while back in the barn while we looked for the rest of you." Dun looked at their companions' haggard state and new better to ask of their condition or what they've been through.

"The best we were able to do was to trade Ashaya's tobacco for a few woolen blankets and a bit of food, two-day old bread, some dry fish, and few small dry apples. I'm afraid the folk of Fairbrook were even less generous with their information as their supplies."

"What we've been able to learn has been horrifying to say the least." Dun swallows hard, not truly prepared to say what he was about to tell his companions, "Their women folk have been taken from them by Fell into the woods." Dun shuddered in fear at the implications of what he had just related, fear he could not hide in his facial expression."

Dun then passed out what supplies they were able to acquire from Fairbrook to his companions, saving some for Lyr. He then retrieved his weapons from Rhotha'ah.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"We know," Heulwen replies, that simple reply somehow conveying that those who had stayed out in the woods knew far more about the strange Fell than what those who had been to town had heard.

"What of your father?" Heulwen asks as Dun hands out supplies, "Did you learn anything that tells us which way to go next?"

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Aashya is relieved to have Dunn and Aleina back with them. She's concerned about Lyr being off by himself, but holds her tongue about it for now.

Dunn tells about the womenfolk of the town being taken by the Fell, and she catches Soradur's eye and murmurs a translation to the dwarf in the Trader's Tongue. Heulwen's vague reply - "We know" - comes as a bit of a surprise. The halfling seems to be in a big hurry to move on from this place.

And why not? Aashya asks herself. This is a bad place, this forest with its strange Fell who lust after women. She'd nearly been another victim, or captive, or whatever became of the women they took, herself.

But what about the townsfolk? Aashya pities them, remembering the poor farmer and his heart-wrenching grief for his daughter. Isn't possible that something could be done to help them? She had escaped the Fell because she had Soradur and Heulwen to help her fight them. Maybe with Dun and Lyr and Aleina's help all together they could do something.

She stands listening to Dun and Heulwen talk, but she's impatient for the conversation to come back around to the Fell.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

"We discovered that he required security on his travels, and so bought protection from a Legate in Caderin. This apparently brought difficulties for Fairbrook, so they were less than forthcoming with help despite any goodwill Feyd's name brought."

Her voice is distant, distracted. It was not very much information, and it remained to be seen if it would prove at all useful. They could go to Caderin and try to dig up more but that would be dangerous. She had hoped for more from this excursion, for the time and risk they took. But all of that is submerged as she stares with her eyes fixed on Heulwen.

We know.

Aleina's face is immobile, impassive even, but her voice contains a note of urgency.

"What has happened here?"

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"A farmer's daughter went into the woods last night after some animals. He was distraught when we came upon him, crying for his daughter," Heulwen begins, he voice flat as she forces it to stay level.

"After Aaysha calmed him down and found out what had happened, we went into the woods after the girl. It was too late, however. The Fell had already dragged the girl under the ground and nearly did so to Aaysha before we escaped," Heulwen continues, her voice picking up speed slightly as she gets to the worst of it.

"We passed the rest of the night in the farmer's barn and were gone before anyone knew we were there."

Emotion finally breaking into her voice, fear, Heulwen pauses to regain control before continuing.

"We should be gone from this forsaken place. As if the legates and sympathizers were not enough, the Fell here have a hunger I've never seen before and don't wish to see again."

[-J-]

Aswad

"Find anything useful?..." the thick, gravely voice breaks the silence of the barn, startling the young Erlender. Spinning around Lyr comes almost face to face with the disheveled beggar. Loose, nondescript rags hang in uneven clumps about the man, shrouding his build. He looks the part of every other destitute panhandler Lyr had ever seen, right down to the way he leans heavily on his staff. Every part, that is, accept for his eyes - sea-green and defiant they are not the hollowed out shells of the oppressed masses but instead they burn with a proud confidence.

[Dirigible]

Lyr

Shock.

With a gasp, the lean scholar springs to his feet, his lorebook, more precious than most of his extremities dropping form his lap onto the dust. He goggles, slack jawed at the cat-footed stranger. A moment later, Lyr's mouth snaps shut and inane excuses and transparent lies burble forth like wine from a squeezed skin.

Think. He's going to try and turn this to his advantage... but there's no garrison here. He can't simply turn me into the l...legates, but he doesn't know I know that. So he may try to blackmail me by threatening to do so, playing on my non-local naivety. He's alone, so he thinks he can defeat me in a fight... Lyr gulps. He's probably right.

"Who are you?" he pants at last. "What... what do you want?"

[-J-]

Aswad

The rag covered man coughs slightly, trying to soften his voice a bit, "Easy now... I just want to know if you found anything I could use against the Fell." He takes a half step back, trying not to crowd the startled scholar.

"You should get that," he says at length, nodding to Lyr's fallen Lorebook, "knowledge is the greatest weapon against the Shadow."

[Dirigible]

Lyr

"What do you know of the Shadow, stranger?" Lyr asks, his eyes rolling unsubtly in his skull as he looks for a way past the rag-clad mummer.

As often happens in times of stress, the rider Nervousness takes the reins of Lyr's tongue, and guides it down the road called Pedantry.

"And to the side of that, do you not know that it is ill-manners and ill-luck to invoke the King of Demons in another man's house? The kedunni say that if you speak its name, you create a doorway that lets it invade and contaminate a dwelling... I expect that that applies to barns just as well as houses."

However, the man's body language is reassuring, and Lyr takes a breath, steadying himself as he crouches to pick up his precious lorebook, wiping dirt from its covers and straightening the thick, rough pages before cradling it in his arms.

[-J-]

Aswad

"I know a thing or two of the Shadow," Aswad says flatly, "just like I know a thing or two of the fear that these peasants feel. Fear so powerful that they would rather give up a few of their own to feed it, than risk facing it. Fear of the Dark One rules the heart of Eredane more cruely than his orcs her flesh."

"But that is neither here nor there...did you find anything useful?"

[Dirigible]

Lyr

The man had an odd way about him, and Lyr watched him from the corner of his eye. "That would depend what I was looking for," he said in a forward, questioning tone.

[-J-]

"A way to end this," he says gesturing around him. "Do those books hold any insight as to the nature of these beasts or thier curse?"

[Dirigible]

Lyr

For a moment, Lyr considers the sardonic reply: All this? You mean 'agriculture'? But instead, he shake his head, clutching his lorebok tight against his small chest. "I don't... discuss such matters with strangers..." he answers, shuffling around the stranger as best he can, making for the exit.

[-J-]

Aswad

"How unfortunate. I had hoped that..." Aswad's voice fades. Hoped what? Hoped for blind trust? Hoped for courage in the face of the mind numbing horror of the walking dead? Hoped for companionship?

"Good luck on your travels then, young sage. May Dal Hali give you strength," the words are followed by a formal bow. He turns quickly and with swift, silent steps crosses the barn and vaults to the window sill. After first checking for villagers, he wordlessly drops to the ground and heads into the woods.

[Dirigible]

Lyr

Lyr gives a sigh of relief as the mysterious beggar vanishes out a window (out a window?), and pauses o tuck his book back into his satchel before hurrying away, head down, to try and follow the others.


(Edited to get the italics to work.)

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

"But Heulwen..." Aashya finally breaks in, voicing the concern that has been plaguing her, "what if it isn't too late to save that girl? Or the other women taken?"

The young Sarcosan woman wears a pained expression, fearful yet determined. She hates these woods, she's afraid of the Fell. But her burgeoning sense that someone has to come forward to protect the helpless folk of the world goads her to speak against just slinking away.

"We're strong. Look at us!" She glances around, waving an arm in particular at Rhotha’ah and Sorudar. "I think we should do something."

Noting that the dwarf is looking at her curiously, she speaks to him in Trader. "Soradur, I think we should try to help these people find their women."

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Fear. That's what Heulwen was feeling. Not that she'd admit it to any one, even herself, but the idea of being dragged into the ground. Trapped for who knows what purpose by Fell whose flesh seemed to burn with an inner fire. The idea, were Heulwen to allow herself to think about it, conjured up memories of her slave life. Of the twisted pleasures that her captors sometimes took. Of the struggle to survive, to be distant without loosing one's self. Even several months old these memories were strong enough to overwhelm Heulwen, and for a split second her stance begins to hunch over, her look become fruitive, scared even as if wary of doing anything that would warrant punishment.

Seeming to sense where Heulwen's thoughts are racing, Cytaill softly nuzzles her hand, sniffing in a manner that can only be called questioning.

Feeling the cold wetness of Cytaill's nose against her hand, Heulwen straightens up, banishing those half-thought thoughts. Her hand gently rubs Cytaill between the ears, a subconcious gesture of thanks. Eying Aaysha, Heulwen's face is now impassive as she consider's the girl's suggestion.

"But what?" she finally says, "What can we do? Those women were taken into the earth. Swallowed up as if by quicksand. Even if they could be rescued, how could we hope to follow them? We cannot travel through the earth as these Fell seem to do."

Turning back to Aleina and Dun, Heulwen continues, "Unless you were able to learn something that would tell us where these women might be held captive, if they are being held captive."

At the thought of learning, the fact that Lyr is not with them is forcibly brought to Heulwen's attention, almost as if for the first time. Glancing quickly left to right, she echo's Rhotha’ah's earlier question, “Where is Lyr? Did he say how long he would be?”

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

"Lyr should not be long," Aleina says somewhat doubtfully. Truthfully, he hadn't said very much and she had not probed. The issue of her channeling through him during the confrontation with the hound was like a thick wall of dirty ice between them - cold and slick, distorting the images on the other side. She had hoped to speak with him about it but the right moment kept eluding her.

She straightens her shoulders. There were more urgent matters that needed to be faced - as usual. The issue of the stolen women and these hideous fell was before them. They had let Lucien go his own way, as he wished, but the decision still felt wrong to her. Could they just leave these poor women to their fate?

"Mayhap he will have more information when he arrives. We learned a little in town about these fell - they were likely the result of the work of a renegade legate. Apparently, he had some sort of church in these woods which was burned. Hallowtide seems to be some sort of trigger that allows the dead freer access to the world of the living. Perhaps we might find the women in the ruins of this church."

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"A church in these woods?" Heulwen replies, making a sign to ward off evil as she discusses a building surely dedicated to the Dark God. "It's a start, but did you learn where this church might be located? We dare not venture further in than half-a-day's forray without a firm idea of where to go."

[Cadrius]

Aleina, Dun, Heulwen, Aashya

The wogren stands behind his halfling master, but it takes but a heartbeat before Heulwen feels Cytaill’s awareness trigger. The shaggy beast’s head perks up and his ears twitch. Lips curl up, baring his fangs, and he lifts himself off the dirt and into a crouch.

Something is nearby.

[Cadrius]

Aswad

He leaves the wary man as quickly as he arrived, and, fleet of foot, he slips between the trunks of the forest. The air is cool, with a light mist flowing between the trees. Meanwhile, the rain lightly patters the canopy above.

The man in the barn could betray him easily enough and Aswad keeps a swift pace for a time. His eyes scan the leaves and dirt, searching for signs of disturbance. It isn’t hard to find. Someone big came through here, that much is clear. It isn’t difficult to follow the general marks of heavy boots.

He hears them first—hushed voices only just reaching his ears. They continue for a moment and then are sharply cut off, leaving Aswad alone again in the woods.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Made alert by Cytaill's reaction, Heulwen grabs her bow and knocks an arrow. Signalling the others for quiet, she blends into the woods, a silent predator searching for prey.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Aashya is about to chime in about the Fell being burned - like the church Aleina tells of - when Heulwen signals for quiet and then melts into the woods. Suddenly, even Aashya notices the silence all around them, and can feel how unnatural it is. She steps nearer to Aleina, feeling somehow that the woman needs to be protected.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

The channeler feels her heart catch as Heulwen moves into action. She can almost feel the charred fingers of the undead clutching at her, the thought sending a wave of nausea through her. Aashya steps closer and Aleina steels herself, maintaining a calm that will hopefully steady the young sarcosan girl.

When Aleina glances over at her, though, she is somewhat surprised to see the lack of fear on her face. Looking deeper, Aleina notices her readiness and purpose. There is something about the way Aashya stands that suggests a certain competence. Aleina wonders at the change but now is hardly the time for questions.

Instead, she looks over to Rhotha'ah and Soradur, making sure they are ready. If it came to fighting there was little she could do. Unwillingly, the magical incantations begin running through her mind. She tries - unsuccessfully - to banish them, to tell herself that she would make no magic here. She knows the words for the lies they are. A choice between magic and being dragged off by these hideous Fell wasn't much of a choice at all.

[Cadrius]

Aleina, Dun, Aashya

In unison, the dwarf and the Dorn pull their weapons. The warning sound of steel scraping against leather signals the arrival of danger. By axe and sword, they arm themselves. Droplets of rain trickle down through the canopy, occasionally pattering against those assembled below.

Aashya moves with a smooth purpose, positioning herself between Aleina and the direction that the halfling is moving. She clenches a hand and relaxes it, listening to the crack of her fingers. It’s hard to tell the difference between it and the snap of twigs beneath the feet of her companions as they shift into position.

[Cadrius]

Aswad

As the young Sarcosan vaults into the branches of a nearby oak, feeling the wet bark rough against his skin, he worries that the drumming of his heart will give him away. Hand over hand he goes, grateful for the sound of rain pattering all around to mask his ascent.

Aswad leans into the crook of a thick branch, pressing himself flat against the trunk and wills himself to be as still as the Red Tower of Sharuun. His breath slows. His heart slows.

Below him, he sees a small form creeping nearby—A child?—that is as silent as a shadow. He—She?—bears a small bow with a knocked arrow. The intent is clear. But he has not yet been found out.

[Cadrius]

Heulwen

Heulwen slips into the woods with as much silence as her tiny form can muster. Cytaill lopes nearby, moving swiftly through the trees. Her own keen eyes flick across the terrain, searching for men or fell. Her feet make no noise, her own stealth augmented by the splash of rain upon leaves. She comes to a stop near a venerable Beech, its white bark slick.

The rain has unlocked the smells of the forest. She can smell the plants and the earth and beneath all of that: decay. She wrinkles her nose, disliking the smell.

Cytaill stops a dozen paces off and begins to growl, a low, threatening growl from deep within his throat. He’s looking up into a tree…at a man. A heartbeat later, her arrow is drawn to her cheek and pointed at him.

[-J-]

Aswad

Thrice cursed dogs...the rag covered man quietly fumes as he lets his walking stick fall to the damp ground below and slowly raises his hands.

"I am not your enemy," he says slowly, taking care to enunciate the words correctly. Erlender was such a flat, and nasally language compared to his native Sarcosan - not that such linguistic semantics were important at a time like this.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"Then why hide?" Heulwen asks, once again grateful for her compainions keen senses. She hadn't thought to look up for a human.

"Come down from there and explain yourself," she adds, keeping her bow fully drawn and trained on the man.

This weather will not be good for the string.

Switching to her native tongue, Heulwen let's Cytaill know what the man is going to do next, "Easy Cytaill. Let the man out of the tree."

[-J-]

Aswad

"My people have a saying, 'Trust in Dal Pavsha,' " Aswad soundlessly drops to the ground, " 'but tie up your camel.' He slowly pulls back his hood revealing already wet, wild blue-black hair.

"Well I could tell you that I'm a simple beggar lost in the woods, but that makes about as much sense as a simple halfling hunter looking for rabbits in a cursed forest with her...dog. So, pretenses aside, why don't we start with introductions," he brushes his tattered cloak aside and bows.

"I am Aswad of the Hassrad Riders of Sharuun."

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Eyeing the man with suspicion, Heulwen keeps here bow drawn as a drop of water splashes on her shoulder.

This rain really isn't doing my bowstring any favors.

"Well, Aswad of the Hassrad Riders of Sharuun, give me one good reason why I shouldn't let this arrow pierce you where you stand and be done with you."

[-J-]

Aswad

"I can't. You don't know me and you have no reason to believe anything I say. So it seems you have a choice. You can either kill me where I stand, or you can leave me to my search."

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"Search for what?"

[-J-]

Aswad

"Why the search for the source of corruption in these woods. When I saw your companions in the barn searching for clues I had assumed that we were here for the same reasons, but, after talking with your bookish friend, I am begining to think that you're not even sure why you are here."

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"Lyr? You talked to Lyr?..."

Relaxing ever so slightly, Heulwen allows her bow to go to half draw as her voice trails off.

"Why would you search for corruption?" she continues, her voice hardening once again, though she doesn't redraw her bow. "The corruption of these woods is not a plesant thing."

[-J-]

Lyr...interesting name. Definately sounds bookish.

"The world is not a pleasant thing, and simply wishing it better won't make it so. Well then, unless you're planning on shooting, I would very much like to press on whilst I still have some daylight. There is still some hope that someone may be saved."

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

She hears the voices - Heulwen's and someone else's - but can't make out the words. It can't be good that Heulwen has been seen, but the voices sound calm. Who is Heulwen talking to? Is she in trouble?

Aashya remembers the encounter with the fell last night. Heulwen had been about to flee on Cytail's back when the burning creature had caught hold of Aashya and tried to pull her underground. But instead of running away, the halfling had risked her neck to try to save her.

Aashya decides then to follow Heulwen, just in case she needs help. She looks around at the others who seem frozen in place, listening. Then Aashya takes off in the direction of the voices. A determined light shines in her eyes, but her heart hammers fearfully. Heulwen will kill me if I blunder into the middle of something!

". . . unless you're planning on shooting, I would very much like to press on whilst I still have some daylight. There is still some hope that someone may be saved."

The words are clear to hear now, and Aashya stops to listen to the strange lilting accent. It is familiar, but it takes her a moment to realize that she is hearing a Sarcosan speak. Another step and a man comes into view up ahead mostly shrouded by intervening foliage, but she can see his face clearly.

And he can see her. Surprise or disbelief flashes in his eyes as he catches sight of her. Aashya frowns at being spotted, but curiosity leads her on and she continues to approach the black-haired man.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

First smell, then sound, and finally sight indicate the approach of another person, but it is one that both Heulwen and Cytaill recognize, so there is little need to react. Still, it was kind of disapointing that Aaysha wasn't willing to wait for Heulwen to finish checking things out.

Lowering her bow, Heulwen puts the arrow back in her quiver. "There is still plenty of daylight," she replies.

"Besides, I believe there are others who would like to meet you," she finishes, looking pointedly at Aaysha.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Meeting Heulwen's stern gaze, Aashya wishes for a moment that she had the power to disappear, or that she had simply stayed and waited with the others. She sighs resignedly, then tries to explain. "I heard the stranger's voice and thought you might need help."

She looks at the Sarcosan man, trying to determine how much of a threat he poses. He seems to be in his middle years, a ragged beggar though he stands straight and tall. What would a beggar be doing so deep in the woods? And who would a beggar be hoping to save?

Heulwen has put her weapon away so Aashya relaxes a bit. But the man continues to stare at her without speaking, and the attention is beginning to make her feel uncomfortable.

"Who is he?" she finally asks Heulwen.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Raising an eyebrow at the fact that Aaysha would ask her to identify the newcomer rather than ask him herself, Heulwen simply looks to the newcomer to let him answer the question.

[-J-]

"Aswad," he says as he bows rigidly. "If your camp is near, I would be honored to accompany you." Face ashen he scoops his staff off the ground and returns his tattered hood to his brow.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Gesturing towards the direction that she and Aaysha came from, Heulwen lets Aaysha lead the way back to the others for the stranger.

She, however, hangs behind ever so slightly to check the area around the tree that Aswad had climbed to make sure that there is nothing else to be worried about. Once satisfied that everything is as normal as could be expected in a haunted wood, Heulwen calls Cytaill to her side and heads back to rejoin the others.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Feeling curious about the Sarcosan man, Aashya forgets herself for a moment and simply stares at him. She'd like to ask him where exactly he is from, but then he might come back and ask her the same question. How would she answer?

He is like me, and yet not like me... she thinks to herself as she leads the way back to where Aleina and the others wait. She watches him out of the corner of her eye as they walk. His skin is dark like mine, but not quite as dark. His hair is very black, mine is more brown. He is almost as tall as a Dorn! It feels very strange, after all the time she had been with the gnomes and then these Erenlanders, to walk with a fellow Sarcosan.

Back in the clearing, the others stare also as Aashya returns with the stranger. "Heulwen found him," she explains using the Trader Tongue for Soradur's benefit. "His name is Aswad."

She turns to look at him again, then realizes she has neglected to introduce herself. "I am called Aashya. Aswad, these are my friends."

[-J-]

"I am called Aashya..."

Aashya...Aswad struggles to retain his composure. So close...the same eyes, same delicately arched lips, the same lithe frame. The resemblance is uncanny, but...

But it couldn't be her. Images of orcs wading through bloody water wash over him, their heavy blades hewing limb and splitting torso.

"...Aswad, these are my friends."

He suddenly realizes that they are looking at him. "Cool water and shade to you all," he says as he bows.

[Kelemyn]

"Cool water and shade to you all."

The phrase stirs echoes from the past for Aashya. She smiles, wrapped in the comfort of that familiarity. But the others do not warm quickly to the stranger.

"He must be all right," Aashya assures them. "Heulwen said it was OK to bring him here.

"And if he gives us any trouble, Rhotha’ah and Soradur can thrash him!" Her teeth flash white as she laughs, a rare thing from this usually quiet, even melancholy girl. It seems that the Sarcosan's presence has awakened a new mood in her. She smiles at Aswad, a smile of tentative camaraderie and fellowship.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

"And greetings to you, Aswad. I am Aleina. Heulwen and Aashya you have met. With me are Soradur, Rhotha'ah, and Dun."

The channeler remains completely still and outwardly calm, eyes never leaving the sarcosan man, though her thoughts are less serene. Aashya was correct: Heulwen would never knowingly allow an enemy to enter and the halfling was mistrustful by nature. More disturbing than Aswad himself was Aashya's reaction - almost bubbling with delight, a very out of character emotion for the girl. It crosses Aleina's mind that the man might have worked some sort of charm on the pair of them. Her voice stays friendly and conversational, though her eyes are unblinking.

"You are from Fairbrook?"

[-J-]

Aswad nods politely to each in turn, his bow to Soradur only slightly longer and more respectful than the others.

"I am not from Fairbrook, although my travels have brought me here."

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

"I heard you talking to Heulwen," Aashya cuts in. "You said.. you said something about it not being too late to save someone. Do you mean the women from the farms around here?

"We were just talking about that ourselves. I think we should try to do something." Aashya touches her neck, and Aswad notices some slight bruising and blistering of the skin there. "One of those fell almost caught me last night. Aleina says there is a ruined and burned church in these woods somewhere. She thinks the women might be there."

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

With misinterpretations of her motives abounding, Heulwen allows the conversation to go on unabated. It was far better to have the stranger here, surrounded by her companions where she could keep an eye on him than out there, doing the gods know what. For all she knew of him, he was an agent of legates. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Rule number 2 of staying alive. Only to be invoked in a failure of rule 1, but sounde advice nevertheless.

[-J-]

Talking about it...well, its a start at least.

"Aleina right? Would you happen to have a better idea as to where this temple is?"

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

"Perhaps. The villagers told me what they knew but that was little enough. They do not go into these woods."

She regards him for a while longer, as if seeking with her gaze to bore into his mind and read what is written there. He could be just like them - looking for a worthy cause in a land of despair. There was no way to know just by looking at him.

"What is your stake in this?"

[-J-]

"All sunshine makes a desert..." his voice trails off as he stands there quietly for a moment. "I have no stake in any of this," he says to Aleina, pausing at the end as if he were going to say more, but instead falls silent. He can feel their eyes on him, her eyes on him. His words, like his heart, drown beneath the muted patter of rain falling through the leaves around them.

"I must be going," he says at length. He then bows and turns toward the heart of the forest.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

That simple, resigned leave-taking softened her heart far more than any eloquently phrased argument could have. It reminded her uncannily of Feyd - a good man walking into the arms of death. It was more than just a brave gesture, it was proof positive that spirit could not be stamped out as easily as an army.

"Wait."

The single word is quiet but clear as a silver bell.

"I have been unfair. The world is not a friendly place, and I have let caution overrule sense. Will you not stay a while so that we might talk further?"

[-J-]

Well handled...as usual Aswad...

"You are wise not to trust," his eye dart across their faces from beneath his cowl. What else is there to say? Come follow me into the abyss? Please throw your lives away with me for a bunch of farmers who would sooner sell you piecemeal to the Dark One himself?

They're complicating everything. What about the plan? Go into the woods, destroy evil or die trying. Short, simple, decisive. He liked that plan. It was a good plan. Now there was the dance - the interplay of balancing need and ego, risk and reward, trust and suspicion.

It was easier to be alone.

Then why did he feel so hollow inside. The looks on their faces at Aashya's banter, those intangible ties of friendship forged in adversity. The bonds of camaraderie that bound each of them in hope and trust. His chest felt like it was caving in under the pressure of its memory.

Such things are only for the worthy.

"But talking in the rain will not end this."

He turns and continues into the forest.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

"You can't go," Aashya says abruptly, and hurries to stand between Aswad and his path. "I mean.. you can't go alone."

Is he brave or foolhardy? she wonders, searching his face for a sign of what was driving him. He's no beggar though he tries to look like one. Not a beggar, not a farmer. What is he then?

"Have you battled the fell before now?" she asks him, suddenly sure that he is a fighter if nothing else. "These fell are different. Their motives are different, I think." She remembers the lust she saw in the eyes of the fell that attacked her last night. Her breath catches in her throat as she recalls the powerful dead fingers that held her fast, that tried to drag her down. "And they are strong," she adds. "One alone would kill you."

Don't go. I want to hear you speak some more. Say something else like, "All sunshine makes a desert..." I can almost remember things when I listen to you talk.

"I will go too. I want to help." She looks back at the others. "Aleina.. Heulwen. We should go with him."

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

The channeler is not used to being rebuffed. For a moment, she considers imbuing her voice with the full weight of her power. It was so foolish to go in search of death when that death would achieve nothing. But she makes the decision to remain silent, to let him go and spend his life how he would: in the end, it was the action that counted, not the result. Unless Izrador himself fell, all deaths in defiance of his rule were identical.

Aleina watches impassively as Aashya makes her plea and her offer. So eager to run into danger, not at all the scared girl from their first meeting. She recalls Aashya's protective stance from a few moments ago and her amnesia, and wonders what secrets are buried within.

"Should? 'Could' is the word I would choose. He does not desire our company, preferring to throw his life away in vain protest. We could disregard his wishes and follow him, but is that wise? He might live then, and be forced to wake another day in a world without hope. And each day he would need to find the strength to continue on the razor's path, with chasms of despair to either side, lifeblood welling with every step.

"Is it fair to deny him the release of death?"

The words had begun as a subtle mockery in hopes of goading the man into accepting their help, but she had accidentally brushed on the questions plaguing her own conscience. Yet there is more, for she has seen something of what lay beyond the vast wall dividing the living from the dead. They did not sleep peacefully. She looks directly at Aswad and continues in a much quieter voice.

"It is your decision to make, but wisdom tells me we all should set more value on life."

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Go with him? Why in the names of all the gods trapped in their hevean's above would we want to help some one who is headed for certian death? Such a path would surely lead only to our own.

Despite the wry cynacism of her thoughts, a nagging voice speaks in the back of Heulwen's mind, reminding her that her own path as an escaped slave was much the same. Not only was she as good as dead if ever caught, but she would be dinner for the orc or goblin troop that managed to catch her.

Better to die fighting than roasting on a spit!

Spitting on the ground as if to purge the taste of the decision she is about to make, Heulwen jumps over the issue that everyone is playing with and gets straight to the next point.

"How do we intend to find this abandoned seat of the Dark God's minions?"

[-J-]

Complicated...

"We find the Fell, and we will find the temple," he says quietly to Heulwen. Feeling Aleina's eyes on him he continues, "I did not ask you to come with, that does not mean I do not want you to come with. No one could ask such a thing as this." He wanted to continue, to explain why he fought, why he was willing to risk everything for the sake of some villagers that would sell him piecemeal to the orc if they had the chance, but the words were empty and hollow.

All that remained was action, and the will to see it through.

He begins walking deeper into the forest.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Aashya has trouble with Aleina's words at first. Don't be ridiculous! Why would the man want to throw his life away?

But as Aleina continues to speak, some of what she says begins to make sense to Aashya. Life must seem truly dismal and base to many in this world, as difficult as that is for Aashya to imagine. We live in a world without hope. But to give up completely? Let go of living? It is something that she cannot readily understand.

She looks at Aswad as he answers Heulwen and Aleina. Is he seeking death as a release?

He finishes what he has to say and walks around her, continuing on his way. He seems determined to Aashya, but not necessarily reckless or careless with his own life. She tries to imagine how he must be feeling and remembers how frightened she had been to walk alone in the woods. But Aswad shows no fear whatsoever.

"You are bold!" she says suddenly, running to catch up with him. She looks back over her shoulder at the others, willing them to follow. Her progress through the dense undergrowth here is awkward and noisy, and soon she must give the trail all her attention. She holds her cloak close to her body ,trying to prevent it from snagging on every bush and bramble she passes. "Are you a woodsman? You don't look like one."

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

Aleina watches the two as they depart without delay, her face imperturbably calm. Lyr still had not returned and she would not abandon him, no matter how much she wanted to finally raise her hand to the darkness before her. For a moment, her eyes meet Aashya's as the young sarcosan looks back at her. Had she forgotten their companion already, or was the lure of rebellion so strong that it didn't matter?

There were things to be said, discussed, planned before they considered following through with Aswad's intent. Always, it seemed, there was reason to delay, to avoid confrontation. But wasn't it better to live and fight another day? To sell your life at the highest possible price? Perhaps, but she can't help feeling that it was wrong to tell someone else what their life was worth.

In the end, she has no answers and so keeps her questions and concerns locked inside. Gracefully, she sinks to a sitting position - crosslegged, chin resting on the thumbs of her steepled fingers - and waits for Lyr to arrive.

[-J-]

"No, I am no woodsman," he says with a slight smile as he watches Aashya bound up to him. She sounded like her, looked like her, and even moved like her. Had he changed so much that she did not recognize him? Was this some sort of game that she was playing? Did she know about...

He shakes his head to dispell his growing doubt. None of that matters now, remember the mission. He pauses a step and shoots a glance back at the others. The men were talking amongst themselves and Aleina was sitting as if she was waiting for something, or someone. He could understand Aleina's hesitation, she seemed wiser and more prudent than the rest. Heulwen also seemed hesitant, and rightly so, he really didn't have much of a plan. He was slightly dissappointed that the Dorn had not jumped at the opportunity for combat. He had expected him or the dwarf or both to at least pipe in.

Maybe they are silent because they have actually faced the horrors in this wood... That alone gave him pause.

Only the mission matters...

"Perhaps Heulwen, Aashya and I should scout ahead. If a wogren's nose is half as sharp as the legends of my people say, we should have little difficulty finding either the women, or the fell. Once located we can regroup and mount an offensive."

[Kelemyn]

Aashya looks up at Aswad, trying to see past the disguise to the man behind it. So far she seems only to have figured out what he is not.

Not a beggar, not a farmer, and not a woodsman either...Her dark eyes run over the rags and bandages again, settling finally on the man's face. She notes the patchy beard, the wild black hair, the surprising clear green eyes. Is that why I feel drawn to him? she wonders, admitting for the first time that she is drawn to him. Something familiar in his eyes...?

She realizes suddenly that she has been staring too long, and looks quickly down at her boots.

He is a Sarcosan, a man of the South, she tells herself. That is what draws her. He's familiar because of his accent, an echo of the voices she undoubtedly heard growing up. Green eyes have nothing to do with it.

Aashya looks back at Heulwen, eager to get moving again. "We could take him to the place where we found the fell last night. It might be a good place to start. The others can wait here for Lyr."

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

A plan.

Or at least the beginings of one. That was what was taking shape here. They were commited now to doing what they could for Fairbrook, as unappreciated or futile as it might be. But with a plan there was at least some chance for success.

"Scent doesn't track well underground, but yes, where we battled the Fell last night, where that girl was dragged under the earth, is as good a place to start as any. Rhotha'ah, you remember the place. Lead the others to it when Lyr joins you."

Switching tongues, Heulwen continues for the dwarf's benefit, "It would seem, Soradur, that we are going to face last night's Fell again. It took four of us last night to handle two. I'd like there to be four of us again today. Will you accompany Aaysha, Aswad, and I on a bit of a scouting expedition?"

[Cadrius]

Heulwen, Aashya, Aswad, Dun, Aleina

The dwarf’s features, much like the rest of him, appear to be cut from stone. Not chiseled like an artisan’s work, but instead roughly hewn from granite. Slowly, his thick eyebrows knit together, furrowed and wrinkled. Soradur’s eyes are flinty and wary and they track past Heulwen and onto Aswad’s gaunt form. He frowns.

“Aye,” he says, thick hands hefting his axe. “I’ll come with you.”

Rhotha’ah’s fierce countenance is only enhanced by his shorn skull and he runs his hand along it now, feeling the rough stubble. “I’ll show them the way.”

And all the while, Aleina waits, pondering what Lyr is doing and when, or if, he’ll return.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Her fear of the woods, although mitigated somewhat by her interest in Aswad, has not left her completely. Knowing that Soradur will accompany them as they return to the place where the Fell attacked last night is a comfort.

"Good!" Aashya says with a smile for the dwarf as he catches up with them. And now she won't be the only one clomping noisily through the underbrush!

But will the others be all right while they wait for Lyr to return? Aashya looks at the three of them, not really liking the idea of leaving anyone behind. Dun does not appear worried, and Rotha'ah looks ready for anything. Aleina is, as always, difficult to read. She seems outwardly calm, but Aashya guesses that there is much going on behind those tranquil blue eyes.

"Be safe," she tells the trio before turning to leave. "And hurry to meet us when Lyr is with you again."

[Cadrius]

Heulwen, Aashya, Aswad

Their trek beneath the heavy branches of oaks and maples is quiet. The rain splattering against the leaves masks the sound of all but Soradur’s passage. A pall is cast over them as they trudge through the rapidly dampening forest. The air is heavy with moisture and their spirits sag. Words are sparse.

They stay near the perimeter of the woods, working their way back to the farmstead before turning inward again. The forest is confusing. Heulwen works hard to retrace their path, but the ground is spongy and her task proves most difficult. She can find but a trace of last night’s panicked flight from the charred dead. Cytaill’s hackles seems to be permanently raised.

Aswad and Aashya share the growing feeling of discomfort. Each passing hour deepens the gloom that pervades the air. They are both out of their element here. Aswad is used to the mighty open plains of the south, and Aashya, well, she isn’t used to so many trees. She casts a glance to Soradur, but his face is writ from stone, impassive. Whether he feels the same sense of foreboding is a mystery. She wonders if dwarves even know what fear is.

Time passes. They walk.

Heulwen and Cytaill’s keen ears first hear a chittering noise coming from a small clearing fifty paces away. Without word both the halfling and the wogren come to a stop. Soradur and Aashya do the same. Meanwhile, Aswad continues for another few steps before stopping and looking at them, perplexed.

“Kwechak! Ul thrak agh durb moridas.”

They all hear it now. None can understand the words, but they all know the sound of the Black Tongue of Izrador.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Shivers dance up and down Heulwen's spine as she shrinks at the sound of that foul tongue. The mere sound makes her want to run as far and as fast as Cytaill can carry her from this spot.

But she isn't alone, and others are depending on her. Taking a deep breath through clenched teeth, Heulwen steels her resolve and straightens back up slowly. Signalling to the others for them to be quiet and not move, Heulwen looks pointedly at Aaysha as she makes the second gesture.

Slowly, and ever so quietly, the halfling then creeps forward, fighting her instinct to run in the other direction every step of the way, as she fades into the shadows and moves into a position which will afford her a view of the clearing.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

The sound of the voices speaking in the hated Black Tongue brings Aashya's heart into her throat. She feels as if she cannot breath, a feeling that is paralyzingly familiar, and yet she cannot remember when she has ever heard the language spoken before or how she knows that it is the tongue of the servants of Izrador.

She looks wide-eyed at Heulwen and nods her compliance with the halfling's signalled instructions. She is not tempted in the least to follow. In fact, were she to move at all she would run away. But there is no danger of that as she is rooted to the spot as if she were one of the tall oaks that grow all around.

Why this overwhelming fear? She hadn't been this afraid even when caught by the burned fell. Maybe it was easier to conquer her fear when she was able to act. She fought the fell, and the fear went out of her with each punch and each kick.

But it was something about the sound of the faceless voices and the words they spoke. The Black Tongue - the language of malevolence, hatred, and death. It makes Aashya want to crawl into a hole and hide. She crouches down among the rain-drenched ferns, and watches Heulwen disappear into the undergrowth.

[Cadrius]

Heulwen, Aashya, Aswad

Heulwen creeps forward, silent as a shadow, her small feet avoiding the dead twigs littering the forest floor. The halfling’s companions are still, all eyes locked on her lithe form picking between shrubs and tree trunks. The chittering continues and no amount of attempt to read the tone is successful. The Black Tongue always sounds full of malice.

Aashya hears a slight creak to her right. It’s the sound of Soradur adjusting the death-grip his thick hands have on the haft of his axe. The blade has a dull gleam to it here in the mist and rain of this dark forest. He looks fully prepared to jugulate whatever servants of the Shadow that lay in the clearing beyond.

Aswad is especially punctilious, his eyes intent on Heulwen and his hands clenched, knuckles white.

Heulwen tips her head the slightest bit, seeing now beyond the shielding oak and into the small opening in the forest. There, among the rough grass and sparse shrubs, are goblins.

A half-dozen of Izrador’s lesser servants lay in the grass, bearing tattered armor and well-worn arms. They are at rest, with only one peering into the woods opposite Heulwen.

Whereas Orcs are the chosen of their Dark Master, bred for brutality in the long war against the men, elves, and dwarves, goblins are a different kettle of fish. They are decidedly less useful in battle, but stone-for-stone they carry just as much hatred as their orcish counterparts. Heulwen has experience with both—too much for her own liking. As a slave, she knew that the orcs were unquestionably in charge. The goblins were left to see to menial tasks and delighted in meting out punishments to the slaves. Indeed, it was as if they sought to equal the orcs in rancor. Their pertinacious belief in the Dark God, who clearly cares little for their ilk, is perplexing.

But here, now, they display but a little of their regular spite. They talk back and forth, pausing only to chortle in glee as one pitches a small rock, waking one of the sleeping goblins as it bounces off of his mottled brow.

[Cadrius]

Aleina

Where in the hell is he?

Aleina sits on the damp floor of the forest, waiting for her scholar friend to return. And is that all he is? A man interested in the Shadow-banned pursuit of books and knowledge? She thinks back to the night of the encounter with the Hound and the flow loose flow of energy coalescing through Lyr and into her. How had that happened? Had she done it? Had he?

Feeling a chill setting into her bones, the beautiful young woman pulls her cloak around her. Looking up from her steepled fingers she sees Dun and Rhotha’ah a dozen paces away, talking quietly so as to not disturb her. She notes that the northman always seems to possess a mixture of respect and uncertainty around her. Meanwhile, his slim Erenlander brother treats her no differently than any other. They are a curious pair; both are driven to find the lost and are unwilling to admit that their search is in vain.

Time passes. Her thoughts slip back to the days when she still had her brother, her father, her mother. They were perhaps not prelapsarian, but the spectre of death did not seem to hold her quite as tightly as it does now.

Eventually, Dun approaches her, one hand resting easily on the pommel of the short blade hanging form his hip.

“Aleina, we should think about moving soon,” he says. “Perhaps Lyr went back to the inn to speak with Loruk?”

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Swallowing bile, Heulwen forcibly supresses unbidden memories of the time a pair of goblins had tried to see if it was really possible for someone to puke their guts out.

Goblins! Now where are their masters? At best an orc, at worst a legate should be about to direct them, though judging from their lax demenor, not too terribly close by.

Melding back into the forest, Heuwlen begins a slow, wide circuit around the goblinoids, examining the ground for indications of the direction they came from, and where their masters might have gone.

[-J-]

Aswad

Blood begins to pound in Aswad's ears as he watches Heulwen soundlessly disappear into the foliage. He hated not being able to see the foul creatures, he hated not knowing his "companion's" prowess, and he hated not knowing the surrounding terrain.

But most of all he hated being here with her.

Glancing over he can see her crouching behind some low lying brush. Hair like wet coal falling down the nape of her neck and spilling across her shoulders in thick, inky rivulets. Her jaw tightens nervously, moving the lines of lightened skin on her cheek in small waves and through her threadbare shirt he can see her lithe muscles coiling in anticipation. She shifts slightly and his eyes catch a glimpse of smooth, dark honey thigh...

Focus, damn it!... He closes his eyes for a moment as he calms his breathing.

Now is the time for fighting.
I am empty of mercy.
Now is the time for death.
I am empty of remorse.
Now is the time for dying.
I am empty of fear.

He feels the swirling tide of emotions calm as he repeats the mantra. Fear... lust... anticipation... love... all fade leaving behind a hollow shell bound together by nothing but the will to kill the enemy, or die trying.

Now is the time...

[Cadrius]

Heulwen, Aashya, Aswad

The young Sarcosan empties his mind as best he can of fear and lust. Such things are bagatelle. The now is what matters. His breath slows and he recalls an epos of Dal Pashva. It gives him courage. Calm settles over his being and he looks at the dwarf next to him. Soradur bears a black look on his face and shakes his head. Perhaps he would prefer a gadarene charge over Heulwen’s stealth.

With just the barest whisper of sound, Heulwen fades between trees. To her people, goblins are anathema. She has witnessed firsthand their cruelty and malice. It was with glee that they inflicted pain upon her and the other halfling at the slave camp, beating and cutting them with little regard for the damage done. The orcish masters had but a passing interest in how hale their slaves were.

She makes it halfway around the clearing, no more than fifty of her paces across, without notice, but as she draws around she sees the one goblin sentry watching the stretch of woods she’s moving toward. She will be under scrutiny there, and so she fades further into the woods, using the oaks and maples as cover. At last, she finds the trail of the goblins. They look to have come from the northwest, and they look to be alone. No larger boot prints can be seen anywhere along the wet, leaf strewn ground.

They are alone.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

An advanced guard?

Despite the security implied in the information contained within the tracks, Heulwen can't shake all of her suspicions.

Sneaking back through the woods, Heulwen makes her way back to where the others are waiting and beckons them away from the goblins to a point where she feels comfortable breaking the silence and telling them what she found.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

"It is unlikely that Lyr returned to the inn without us."

It had been too long, though. It seemed likely that something had happened but she was reluctant to consider exactly what that might be. Now she faced the choice of splitting the group further by looking for him or waiting and possibly leaving him to some unknown doom. They might spend hours blundering about without finding him.

"We will wait until the others return. If he has not arrived by then we will search for him together."

[-J-]

Aswad

Aswad glances around one more time at the terrain before hunkering down with his fellow brigands.


"We should..." kill them...kill them all... he swallows hard, choking back his bloodlust."...follow them, see why they are here and who is their master."

Now is not the time...

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Aashya can't recall any personal experiences with goblins. She remembers seeing some once, from a distance... a group of scrabbling, hunched creatures loitering on the bank of the river. Her view of them had been from the deck of the gnomes' raft, inside a barrel, peering out through a knothole, so she hadn't gotten a good look at all.

The gnomes of the Sun Fish clan had seemed mostly contemptuous of these smaller servants of the Dark Lord, and had paid them little heed. They'd only stopped their working and singing for a moment, just long enough to hide their contraband, including their one illegal, human passenger.

So... the hidden speakers of the black tongue are merely goblins - Aashya is relieved to hear it, and visibly relaxes. It makes her feel almost bold, and she looks around at the tough little band that crouches in the undergrowth with her as if counting them and weighing the results against the number of goblins Heulwen has reported. We can take them! she decides, but then Aswad offers more moderate counsel.

"Follow them?" she asks, surprised by his advice. That is exactly what she would've expected the ever-cautious Heulwen to say. Not that she thinks the advice is so bad. It's just... not what she thought he would want to do.

"I don't know... What about Soradur?" She glances at the dwarf and shrugs an apology. Everyone knows that his tread through the forest is not the gentlest; nor is hers, although she hates to admit it. "We'd be caught for sure. Why not just surprise them now while we have the chance? There are only six!"

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"And we are merely five. That would tend to put the odds in their favor, though not by much. If we collect the others we'll have a decided advantage."

"As for following them, we have no idea when they might move on, we could wait for hours for them to decide to go somewhere. Where would that leave the others?"

"Besides, these goblins are not why we are out here. We are searching for the Temple that is rumored to be in these woods, and baring the temple itself, then some trace of the Fell that are supposed to be tied to it. These goblins are nothing more than a distraction."

[-J-]

"Are you certain that these goblins, or their masters, are not related to these "burning dead" ? We knew little before we entered these woods, and now we have another unknown factor in these dark minions." He pauses for a second before continuing.

"Which is better, to possibly waste a few hours trying to learn what may really be going on, or search through the woods and risk facing both the Fell and the Dark One's minions?"

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Pursing her lips, Heulwen considers Aswad's point and is forced to accede to his logic.

"Then we need to plan our next step. I can follow their tracks to see where they came from, or we can wait here for something to happen. Either way, someone needs to go back and find the others, let them know of the change in plans. If Lyr has rejoined them, then they can be brought here."

[Cadrius]

Heulwen, Aashya, Aswad

“I’d kill the lot of them,” the dwarf’s voice is a harsh whisper. “But maybe there’s more of their ilk out here. Maybe we’ll draw them down on us. The little one is right. We’re here about the temple, not to spill some black blood.”

Soradur shrugs his broad shoulders. “But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to end their miserable lives.”

[-J-]

Aswad

"...Maybe we’ll draw them down on us..."

Aswad winces ever so slightly as the image of a mass auto de fey wells up in his mind. Caren ab Dal...the town's name comes with the smell of burning flesh and the high pitched screams of small, blistering children. A legate and his astirax traded for sixty three people just trying to scratch out a living.

“...But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to end their miserable lives.”

"Agreed," he says as he swallows back the acrid taste of the past. "Heulwen, follow their trail and see if they're an advance patrol, and I'll shadow their movements. Soradur and Aashya you should go and meet back with the others and let them know what is going on. We'll meet up like we originally planned in a few hours, and make sure no one in the town knows where you're going."

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"Are you sure you can do so without being spotted?" Heulwen asks, "You're going to be on your own and out numbered for a while. One false move and you're liable to end up dinner."

As she waits for Aswad's answer, a drop of water finds its way inside Heulwen's cloak, reminding her that it is still raining. Tugging on her hood, Heulwen adjusts it slightly to keep any more water from trickling in.

[-J-]

Aswad

Aswad just smiles. "We'll meet again in a few hours, if I'm not there on time assume I've been captured. Do not come looking for me. Grab what you can and be somewhere else. Don't tell anyone where you are going, don't be seen by anyone, just disappear and never come back. Understood?"

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Suicidal and fatalistic, but totally practical. This human may have some idea of what he is really up against, Heulwen thinks as she nods in affirmation. Beckoning Cytaill to her side, Heulwen swings into the saddle and then proceeds to swing a wide berth back around the goblins to where she had found their tracks that lead into the clearing and then starts following them away from the clearing, using Cytaill's nose to assist her own and keeping a sharp ear and eye out for anything or anyone.

[OOC: Hide and Move Silently while tracking. Stop every few minutes to take 20 on an active Spot and Listen check.]

[Kelemyn]

Aashya looks at Soradur - a quick glance, just long enough to judge his reaction to Aswad's orders. Does he seem at all worried that the two of them will be unable to retrace their steps back to the others? Aashya has little confidence in her own ability to find her way in the wilderness, but she is not about to say anything if the dwarf does not.

She watches Heulwen go, disliking the nervous flutter in her stomach as she realizes that the small party is being divided - weakened - yet again. We'll meet up again soon, she tells herself, then turns to Aswad.

But will we meet again? The enigmatic Sarcosan - not a beggar, not a farmer, not a woodsman - could very well disappear into the forest and remain a mystery to her forever. What had Aleina said about him? That he seemed eager to throw his life away in vain protest.

But he'd counseled caution moments before. He plans to watch the goblins only, to see what they are up to. Nothing more. He's not looking for death as an end to hopelessness. He's fighting the enemy, and he's being smart about it.

I'll see him again.

She hardly wonders why she has to reassure herself so for a comparative stranger.

"Well, we'll see you then in a few hours," she tells Aswad. Then she turns to the dwarf. "Ready, Soradur?"

[Cadrius]

Aashya

Soradur grunts, but seems to accept the decision well enough. His flinty eyes glance warily at Aswad before turning and looking into Aashya’s own. The dwarf’s distrust of the man is etched across his rough face. Whether all dwarves are this suspicious and distrustful or if it is merely a characteristic of Soradur remains a mystery.

Aahsya’s concern is different altogether. Heulwen, despite her childlike size, has proven an able guide through these woods. Soradur is far less adept. He finds the footprints that mark their crossing easily enough, but he moves slowly, unwilling to chance losing the trail and leaving them lost amidst the foreboding oaks and birches outside of Fairbrook.

[Cadrius]

Heulwen

Tracking the goblins proves an easy enough task. They plainly made haste through the woods, not stopping to cover their tracks and disguise their passing. Here, she finds fallen leaves trampled by their rough feet. There, she finds a pile of filth. Both she and Cytaill wrinkle their noses at the stench.

The pair remain silent as they move through the woods, tracking by sight and smell.

After a time, Heulwen comes to a stop. No other tracks cross those left by the goblins. Neither orc nor legate can be seen here. Perhaps the dark priests of Izrador can use their fell magic to mask their presence. Or perhaps these goblins are here for a different purpose altogether.

[Cadrius]

Aswad

Aswad has had little dealings with goblins. His days on the great plains of the south were spent avoiding orc soldiers and their legate masters, or, more rarely, doing battle with them. The fodder of the armies of Izrador was not often seen. As far as he knew, goblins were only good for two things: beating halflings and dying. For all the hardships he has borne in his short life, he does not envy their lot.

Silent as a shadow, he slips beneath the damp boughs of a spruce tree and watches them. His heart beats faster. The men of the south had taught him well, but it would not do to be found by them. Small though they might be, six of them could find an opening and skewer him.

They do not find him.

From his vantage point, Aswad watches the goblins chitter back and forth. When the rains begins to pick up they move a dozen paces beneath the canopy of the forest. They produce some sort of dark, sticky substance and eat it, greedily sucking the remnants from their fingers. A small fire is lit and the six huddle around it, rubbing their hands.

[Cadrius]

Aleina

Time passes. Lyr does not return.

Worry immixes with fear. She should not have let him stay. Of all of them, Lyr was the least able to protect himself. Having seen the way he handled the tomes, Aleina recognizes his love of books and knowledge and not of war and death. That farmer had just lost his wife. Perhaps they sought an easy source to blame.

Who better than an outsider?

The image in her mind’s eye shows her his battered and bloody form lying in the rain. She shivers, not feeling the cold. The thought lacks the punch of her visions. It is not real, but the thought is hard to shake.

The heavy pound of footsteps snaps her attention back to her surroundings. Rhotha’ah and Dun have also heard it and move behind a pair of nearby trees, slowly drawing their swords.

A moment passes. The footfalls grow louder. Rhotha’ah tightens his grip on his family’s steel heirloom.

It is not the burned dead that come, but Aashya and Soradur. They are alone.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

The steady drip drip drip of rain on the canopy of leaves overhead would be peaceful under different circumstances. If she weren't wet and cold to the bone. And if she didn't have the feeling that she was wandering lost in an endless tangle of tree trunks and underbrush.

Soradur's pace is slow but he seems confident that they are going the right way, so Aashya doesn't speak of her unease. She is too busy being angry with herself anyway.

Why had she advocated surprising the goblins? It was a reckless idea, a stupid idea, and not at all something that she would've normally suggested. Did she think that bold plan of action would impress Aswad?

Her cheeks flush embarassingly hot at this disturbing thought. Why would she care to impress this stranger?

Probably because he intrigues me, she thinks, with his exotic-yet-strangley-familiar accent and his Sarcosan ways. Something about him reminds her of her old life. But even if he does stir up lost memories she can't go letting him muddle her thinking. She is only beginning to discover the person that she was back then. And while she may have been a person of action who believed in fighting the good fight, she undoubtedly had more sense than this!

She's relieved to finally step into the clearing and find Aleina waiting there, seemingly as patient and unperturbed as ever. Dun and Rotha'ah materialize from out of the brush a moment later, looking past Aashya and Soradur, most likely wondering why Heulwen and Aswad aren't leading the way. Aashya smiles reassurance.

"It's just us two," she says, unconsciously reporting mainly to Aleina. "We came across some goblins in the woods - don't worry; they didn't see us. Heulwen went to try to find out where they came from, and Aswad was going to watch them to see what they are up to. We came back to tell you what was happening and to bring you back with us."

She looks around, then back at Aleina, a worried frown creasing her brow. "Lyr has not come back?"

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

Her relief at seeing Aashya and Soradur melts beneath the realization that they are alone. The eye of her mind displays a landscape filled with unpleasant vistas; she ignores them, eyes focused on the pair as they approach. Soradur remains silent while Aashya explains what the others are attempting.

Aleina shakes her head, indicating that Lyr is indeed missing.

"Perhaps he is lost."

Her tone and expression indicate that she does not think this is the case. She stands, hands tucked into the sleeves of her cloak.

"How many?"

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

"Heulwen said there were six goblins, and that they were alone," Aashya says. She finds a gnarled oak root justting up from the forest floor like a knobby knee, and makes it her seat. "I thought- " She pauses, then glances at Soradur. "Well, nevermind. It wasn't a good idea.

"Anyway, Aswad wants to see if the goblins have anything to do with the burned fell - that's why he's watching them."

Aashya sighs. There's nothing to do but wait. But what will they do if Lyr doesn't find his way here?

[Black Plauge]

"Nothing..." Heulwen mumbles under her breath, not quite believing what the tracks are telling her. "No sign of any handlers for these goblins. What are they doing here? Perhaps Aswad's observations have yielded something. Come on Cytaill, let's turn back."

Climbing into the wogren's saddle, Heulwen makes much better time back to the goblin's position than she did away from it. That doesn't stop her, however, from slowing down and keeping a solid 100 yards between herself and the clearing as she swings around them again to reunite with Aswad.

[Cadrius]

Aashya

“This is a bad place to be lost,” Rhotha’ah says, his deep dornish accent making the words sound like boulders grating together. His face is a grim mask, and his piercing blue eyes flick from tree to tree, as if expecting to be ambushed by the fell at any moment.

Aashya could not agree more with the northman’s sentiments. Here among the old junipers, longleaf pines, and thornapples, she cannot help but feel a sense of foreboding. Hallowtide is coming and with it come the burning dead. She shivers, thinking of the chunk of scorched undead flesh that had winked at her as it was swallowed by the earth. Even with doughty Soradur by her side, she had not felt safe leaving Aswad and Heulwen and walking through the damp leaves of this black forest. She wonders if they will return, or if the goblins will make a meal out of them.

Whenever something, or someone, was lost, the gnomes that had adopted Aashya would redouble their prayers and offerings to the Watcher, the enigmatic river spirit that dwelled within the Eren. She often tried to understand the spirit, and what it wanted, but it was as flighty as the wind that raced over the river. Even the gnomes could not claim to understand the spirit in full. Yet they held fast to the belief that the Watcher kept the world in balance. Each action, good or ill, was tallied in the Watcher’s books and when you die, it is the Watcher that weighs your soul. Those that are found worthy become part of the mighty Eren. Those that are not are sent out to the open sea to be lost among the churning waves.

She knows she isn’t on the river, but in this moment, she wishes she could make an offering to the Watcher for the safe return of Lyr, Heulwen, and Aswad. This is no place to be lost.

[Cadrius]

Aleina

Lost.

She had not been in these woods outside Fairbrook last night when the other four had done battle with the charred dead, but she did not need to see the horror to understand that being alone in these woods is bad, very bad. Her companions are on edge, Soradur and Rhotha’ah both look clutch their weapons and normally even-keeled Dun grips the handle of his blade with white knuckles. They’re scared. She should be too, but she distances herself from the emotion, viewing it coolly as she always does.

“What are goblins doing in these woods?” Dun asks.

By his story, the Erenlander had grown up on the streets of Baden’s Bluff. It is beyond Aleina’s ken to understand how he had lived in the shadow-occupied city without being ground down. Indeed, Dun’s stoic refusal to give into despair was remarkable.

“More importantly—” Rhotha’ah says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other “—is what we’re going to do about it. Aleina?”

Rhotha’ah meets her chilly gaze as easily as the frigid winds of his homeland. He looks to Aleina for guidance. Ruefully, she wonders how she became the leader of this rag-tag group and why Rhotha’ah, a towering statue of muscle and danger, seeks her counsel. It is not her beauty, as it has so often been with other men. She has heard the way his voice softens when speaking of his missing wife. Her fate is not likely to be a pleasant one. Spirited away by masked bandits, Aleina figures the best outcome is slavery. The worst is one she does not dwell upon.

They’re all looking at her—Dun, Rhotha’ah, Aashya, and even Soradur—and are waiting for an answer.

[Cadrius]

Heulwen

Heulwen’s enslavement had been a bitter one. Her parents had been dragged from their homes on the great rolling plains to the south by goblin slavers. Jheri, her mother, was two months with child then. That she managed to carry Heulwen was a miracle, although it was a bitter joy to bring her into a world of suffering. The halflings are, and always have been, a fiercely loyal community. Each of the slaves helped care for Heulwen, especially after her mother was killed by a goblin for refusing to whore herself.

Her father, a cook, was forced to put his wife in the stew pot that night. One day later, five orcs and a dozen goblins were writhing in agony as something ate away at their innards. Two days later, they were dead. It was said that Deane’s tears had poisoned the stew, but the black oleander didn’t hurt either.

She meets Aswad’s wary gaze and gives nothing more than a nod. Cytaill is little more than a ghost at her heels.

[Cadrius]

Aswad

He never was as good at hiding as Hassaf had been. Perhaps that’s why they called Hassaf the Fox. Aswad’s name was not charming, but no less apt. He was the Cub. His mouth twists a grimace, thinking of his father Osrick, who was known as the Lion of the South. Aswad wonders if his father now rides with the Sorshef or if he was cast into the infinite blackness between the stars, cursed to wander horseless.

Fortunately for Aswad, these goblins aren’t looking for him. They seem exhausted. Four of them are now asleep by the smoky fire and the fifth is dozing. Only one seems to be even halfway alert. He clenches his rusted spear and squints into the trees, but sees nothing save bark and leaves.

Heulwen and her wogren appear from around a tree, eyeing him with caution. Aswad cannot blame her.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Knowing that their vigil over the goblins might be a long one, and that fugitives on the run had to rest when they could, Heulwen eyes the area around herself and Aswad closely before finally asking him in a barely audible whisper, "When was the last time you slept?"

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

The weight of decision is on her, yet she refuses to let her shoulders sag beneath the burden. As always, she feels surrounded by the abyss, as if she stood on an island. They were not far away, her companions, but she was separated from them by the infinite distance of failure on all sides. There was no satisfactory answer to this dilemma, as it had been with Lucien, and with Feyd, and countless others. The solution to her own inner struggle seemed more remote than ever.

She rises, the picture of confidence. Her gut twists - poignant, painful. The ice blue eyes never waver.

"We will return to the barn and find what tidings we may of Lyr. Then we will return to this spot. If Heulwen and Aswad have not returned by then, we will seek them out."

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Enlivened by Aleina's apparent confident, Aashya jumps up to stand beside her. They will search for Lyr and find him back at the barn, and everything will be all right. She doesn't think the scenario through or question that thought - why would Lyr remain away so long? what has he been doing all this time? - she simply lets optimism carry her along.

At least they'd finally be getting out of these woods.

"Dun and I will go first," she says, reasoning that, of all the group, they two are the least likely to arouse suspicion if they should happen to be seen. And she wants to keep Aleina back where she will be protected if they run into the fell or something worse. She explains everything to Soradur in Trader, suggesting that he and Rhotha’ah take the rear positions. Then they all set off.

[-J-]

“I’m tired father, I just want to go to…” the rest of the sentence is cut off with firm backhand across the face that sent him sprawling across the floor. Lip swelling, the boy weakly picked himself off the sandy floor and resituated himself on the small, worn pillow.

Hips tucked…spine straight…legs folded…breath relaxed and into the stomach…tongue touching the roof of the mouth just behind the teeth…arms relaxed…thumb and middle finger lightly touching…breathe…
A few moments later even the throbbing of his face began to fade as he slipped into the warm, hypnagogic trance of kelnarim.

So tired…must focus on breathing…

The world around him faded as he slipped from his meditation into sleep.

So tired…

*CRACK*

Pain blossomed behind his eyes as the thumb thick rod of pliant wax wood drew a red, angry welt across his back. A yelp escaped his lips and is quickly followed by another lash.

The boy didn’t make a third mistake.

Jaw quivering he straightened and readjusted his posture, shame burning within his small chest. It was inexcusable to be six summers old and fall asleep during meditation, his father said as much with his eyes.

Inexcusable…



“Aswad…” the voice is so soft that it is lost in the faint, broken patter of spent raindrops dripping from broad, green leaves to the damp earth below. The forest…not the desert…Heulwen...not Osrick... He looks at the small halfling for a moment, before nodding. Wearily he pulls his feet in and crosses them. Hips tucked…spine straight…legs folded…

Breathe…

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Taking Aswad's repsonse as confirmation that he hasn't slept well in a while, Heulwen nods as he takes up what looks like a rest position. "2 hours, at most," she says quietly and then moves quietly back towards the clearing to take over the watch over the goblins.

[Cadrius]

Aleina , Aashya, Rhotha’ah, Dun, and Soradur


The first time Aashya lamented that she did not know who she was or where she came from, Gorban Gale, a Linesman, had taken his two small hands and held Aashya’s bigger one. “In the beginning, the Watcher dug a ditch from the sea to the Goil,” he said, the bronze moon denoting his rank glimmered in the lamp light. “The People lived on the pinkfish brought to them by the Watcher and they lived along the shores of the Goil. Casting their nets into the shallows, they caught their food and flourished. The water flowed through the ditch and down into the sea, but the Goil always filled back up with the rains. However, one day the People cast their nets and drew naught but water and weeds. ‘The Watcher has forsaken us,’ many of them said. ‘We will starve now without the pinkfish.’ But the wise among them said, ‘No. The Watcher has done nothing. The pinkfish are not here to leap into our stomachs. They do not come to us. We must go to them. If they are in the shallows we shall go there. If they are in the deeps, we shall take our ships and follow.’ And so the People moved with the pinkfish as the Watcher saw fit. Bemoaning their fate did not feed the People, changing their ways did.”

It hadn’t made much sense then. She still isn’t certain if she can make anything of it now.

“Lyr is gone,” Dun says, emerging from the barn. “Those men are too.”

A deep scowl crosses Rhotha’ah’s face and he storms into the barn, peering about angrily as if his rage might conjure the missing scholar. He emerges shortly, eyes focused on the wet ground. While not as adept as the halfling, he learned the ways of tracking from his father. He takes to it with a fury, peering at each bootprint and every trampled blade of grass.

“What has happened?” Soradur asks Aashya. It doesn’t take the dwarf long to piece it together. A frown that rivals the Dorn’s own falls across Soradur’s craggy face.

Rhotha’ah, stops, staring at marks in the grass that lead in the direction of the forest. “It looks like something was dragged through here,” he says. “But I know not what.”

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

She can feel the big man's anger like she can feel the bite of the icy wind, like she can feel the eyes of the others upon her. They wanted to know what to do. Aleina gazes at each of them in turn, projecting her own cold calm into their minds.

"If he went back to town he is safer than we are here; if not, then he needs our help. Let us follow the trail warily. We must be prepared."

[Cadrius]

Aleina

She comes to stand next to the calvous Dorn, peering into the same blades of grass. She cannot read the passing like Heulwen can, but the general shape is too rounded to be an object. A person has been dragged through here.

Careful, so as to not disturb the tracks themselves, Aleina circles around. Something catches her eye. She reaches down and plucks several long hairs from the grass. They’re wet and tangled, but she can tell it’s flaxen. Lyr’s hair was brown like her own. These belong to someone else.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

"I'm confused."

Aashya stands beside Aleina, frowning at the strands of yellow hair that the other woman had found in the grass.

"It wasn't Lyr then?" She turns to look where the drag marks lead - to the forest. "I guess that is good news... Maybe Lyr did go back to the village. But who was dragged away? I can't believe that Heulwen missed these tracks when we were here before."

Where can Lyr be? He might have gone back to the village, but why? He knew that his companions were waiting for him. Had he gotten lost in the woods trying to find the group? Had he tried to follow these tracks?

"Aleina, someone does need our help, even if it's not Lyr. We should still follow the trail." Her eyes cut to the trees again and her shoulders sag, but she goes on resignedly. "It's either that or go back where we were and hope that Lyr finds us."

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

"It was not Lyr. Nor was it this farmer or his daughter, from what you have told me. This person had light hair."

It could be another woman dragged off. Or something else entirely. Yet she did not think it was the work of the fell the others had described. The channeler wracks her brain, thinking back to half-heard conversations in Fairbrook. They feared the wood because of the fell, first and foremost. But hadn't she also heard whispered mention of someone else in the wood, a man?

"Someone does need our help. I do not know where Lyr has gone, but I think you are right. We should follow this trail."

She turns to the men.

"Rhotha'ah, Dun: ready your weapons."

Her cold gaze falls on the dour countenance of Soradur.

"Someone has been dragged into the wood. We are going to find them."

[Cadrius]

Aleina , Aashya

Rhotha’ah and Dun nod in unison, brothers in spirit if not by blood. Each rests hands on their blades and, not for the first time, Aleina notices the stark contrast between the two men. Fire and Ice. They are an unlikely pair, and both are likely chasing naught but ghosts across the plains of Eredane. The Dorn’s wife is, at best, a slave to some Shadow lord, broken in spirit if not body. Dura Abben, on the other hand, is undoubtedly lost. A merchant, even with approval to travel from, is not safe on the open road.

The leather padding beneath his breastplate squeaks as Soradur shrugs his thick shoulders. The dwarf’s story, and why he travels with them still, remains a mystery to Aleina. He presents a definite risk. Each of them would be tortured and killed by any passing Legate for consorting with the fey. Of course, they would meet the same fate if an astirax were to sniff out the arcane wellspring within Aleina’s soul.

“What about Heulwen and the Sarcosan?” asks Dun.

[Cadrius]

Aswad, Heulwen

He dozes fitfully, his mind plagued by the ghosts of the fallen. Memories of the past haunt his dreams, and as always, the Lion of the South is there. The mighty Sarcosan lord had been taken by the Shadow and sent on the Heaven Ride with the Sorshef. But he reaches through death’s veil to lurk within his son’s dreams.

Aswad comes awake, feeling the rough bark pressing into his back and the feel of wet leaves around his hands. He is in this world again and his father cannot reach him, cannot remind him of why Aswad would raise arms against his own blood.

Heulwen and Cytaill maintain a lonely vigil, watching the goblins assemble their small shelter. The scent of earth and rain and something darker lurks within the air. It’s a cloying smell. She isn’t certain if it’s the goblins or the woods itself. Her nose wrinkles in disgust.

The goblins have managed to make a small fire, more smoke than flame. Two sleep, curled up, while the other two chitter quietly in their black tongue. Their gnarled hands periodically touch their weapons, reassuring themselves of their presence. They are on edge. They can feel something is wrong within these woods as surely as the halfling and her wogren.

It all happens so fast.

One moment, the goblins sit by their wretched fire, eating some dark, moist substance they pull from within worn leather pouches. A heartbeat later, the fell descends upon them. Its dead flesh, charred and cracked, steams as rain falls upon it. It falls upon the goblins without mercy. One manages a squeal of surprise before its face is caved in by a titanic blow. The other clutches its spear and only manages a weak thrust that’s easily turned aside by the sweep of a hand. The two sleeping awake to see their companion’s throat crushed by a blackened hand.

They scramble to their feet, screaming, and flee into the woods, away from Heulwen and Aswad. The creature gives chase.

Soon, the screams stop.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Tensing at the sudden and unexpected appearance of the Fell, Heulwen rocks out of her practiced squat and into a standing position with barely a sound.

What in the Dark God's name is taking Aaysha and Soradur so long to get the others? Was Tyr that long in joining them?

Silently cursing the foolishness of humans, Heulwen nudges Aswad with a foot, waking the man. Putting a finger to his lips to silence him, she mouths the word Fell and points to the clearing.

[-J-]

Aswad

Nodding, Aswad quickly gets to his feet and gathers his staff. Without speaking he pantomimes the two of them following the Fell.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Giving Aswad a look that asks if he's crazy, Heulwen nevertheless swings into the saddle, bringing her own sanity into question too.

Circumnavigating the clearing, just in case, Heulwen picks up the Fell and goblin's trail where the entered the woods and then follows it slowly, paying close attention to both her own senses and Cytaill's reaction to what is around them.

By the seperated Gods, please don't let this be as stupid a move as it seems.

[Kelemyn]

“What about Heulwen and the Sarcosan?” asks Dun.

"What about them?" counters Aashya. "Look, we tried to find Lyr and could not. That leaves us with the choice of continuing to wait for him in the woods, or of returning to Heulwen and Aswad without him. There seems to me to be little purpose in either action.

"But if we follow the trail... Well, I think we may be able to achieve some good that way. And there's still a chance that we'll come across Lyr wandering in the woods. I don't think Heulwen and Aswad will mind waiting for us a little longer."

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

Aashya's assessment was not exactly in line with Aleina's own thinking but both roads led to the same place. Movement was required, and in a direction where they could do something positive. So far the tasks they had set for themselves had been out of reach; perhaps here they had a realistic chance at achieving something of worth.

Her own mind was made up. It was obvious that Aashya would join her - and where the girl went, Soradur followed. Rhotha'ah had his own mind but he held Aleina's opinion in high regard and seemed almost grateful to follow her lead.

And that left only Dun, with chances of finding Dura growing slimmer by the moment. Time spent here was surely time wasted in his own quest. What scale is used when judging between lives?

Aleina gives a slight nod at Aashya's words and fixes her eerie eyes upon Dun.

"We will follow the trail. Will you?"

[Cadrius]

Aswad, Heulwen

Halfling and Sarcosan give their fears to the winds and the fates as they give chase to the dead that walks. Heulwen swings into her wogren’s saddle, feeling as comfortable riding Cytaill’s back as she does walking. To Aswad, the bond they share seems the equal of a Sarcosan horseman and his steed—perhaps even greater.

As silent as can be, they follow the screams of the goblins as they are pursued by the charred fell. Through brush and around trees the three of them pursue, hopeful that they might be lead to something promising. These woods are large and their target small. By comparison, finding the needle within the haystack would be easy. In the haystack they wouldn’t have to worry about being devoured.

They come to a halt as they catch sight of the fell. It had caught the last goblin by a great oak. Its massive roots had snagged the fleeing goblin’s foot and it scrambled backward, trying to flee the monster that chased it. Heulwen and Aswad arrive just in time to see the fell snapping the neck the goblin’s neck. A wicked grin spreads across its face, cracking and lightly tearing the skin around its mouth. Its skin steams in the air and it radiates nothing but pure malevolence. Heulwen feels the hackles of her wogren rise, its instinctive distrust of the supernatural coming to the forefront. But Cytaill remains silent and emits no growl, sensing his master’s purpose.

The monster straightens, but does not cast its gaze in their direction. It strides forward to a small clearing nearby. Cautious, the two hunters follow. Yet even before they reach the spot, Heulwen hears whimpering coming from the direction of the fell. The sound gives rise to gooseflesh on her arms and neck.

Approaching the clearing slowly, they use the thick trunks as cover. Aswad peeks his head around the side of a Maple. The fell stalks across the clearing, its legs cutting through the grass. At the other end, bound to trees, are four women. Soaked to the skin, they look to be delirious. None possess the strength to scream at the approach of the monster.

[Cadrius]

Aleina , Aashya

The Erenlander twists his mouth to the side, considering Aleina and Aashya’s words. Aleina knows from hearing him speak that there is little that can shake the unflappable Dun. Indeed, the only time she has heard his voice shake from emotion was when he spoke of finding his father. Otherwise he remains ever-placid. He has a calming affect over the others, keeping his head level despite the turmoil they’ve felt.

At last offers her a smile. “You’re right. We might as well do some good while we’re here.”

Satisfied, Aleina looks to her other companions. The Dorn and the dwarf both shrug their thick shoulders. For them, action is always preferable to stillness. But Aashya notices the briefest flicker of doubt flash across Dun’s face. It comes and goes so quickly, she blinks and wonders if she saw it at all.

Rhotha’ah uses the skills taught to him by his father who learned from his father who learned from his father of how to live within the wilder places of Aeryth. The Dorns believe in tradition and family and they pride themselves on the great houses of antiquity that they are descended from. Aleina wonders which name Rhotha’ah take pride in. She wonders what tales of bravery he was raised by. But most importantly, she wonders how he grapples with the loss, and undoubted death, of his wife by slavers.

The Dorn bends to the ground, studying the marks and looks up into the woods. Silent, he nods to his companions and sets off, eyes alternating between the ground and the trees. The rest follow, trusting to their companion that he will find the way.

He does.

Some time later they come across a small hovel erected beneath the canopy of a massive oak tree. It appears to have been hastily, or carelessly, constructed and carries the threat of collapsing beneath its own weight at any moment. Pale green lichen blankets the roof and walls, leaving little of the gray wood visible. The one visible window has its shutters drawn shut. A stretch of chopped firewood rests next to the mighty oak. A small kettle is set over a fire. Aashya isn’t certain if the smell is appetizing or revolting.

[-J-]

Aswad

The rush of combat hits Aswad's brain like lightning, slowing time to a crawl. His heart strains against his ribs and he can feel his breath quickening. The world around him crystalizes into hyperacuity. He can see the tears streaking down one of the girl's faces, the redness from where her bonds are cutting into her skin. He can hear the sizzle of the burning Fell's flesh as he moves through the tall wet grass.

By the time the creature takes another step toward the women Aswad knew what he must do.

"I'll lead it off. Save the women," he whispers. With a flick of his wrist a sharpened shank of steel drops into his hand.

"HEY!" he yells as he steps from around the tree and hurls his dagger.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

When a dumb idea gets even dumber, the smart run away.

"Well, no one ever accused me of being the smart one," Heulwen mutters as she and Cytaill slink of through the trees away from Aswad, around the Fell, and towards the tied up women.

"Let's just hope that these women are worth saving. Eh, Cytaill."

[Cadrius]

Aswad

The key is in the grip. As a former spear of the Hassrad Riders of Sharuun, Asward is familiar with all manner of weapons. A life of nomadic militarism, with constant raids upon the Shadow’s forces, has taught him how to use anything as a weapon. The Sarcosan host could not afford being too reliant on any one man so it was expected that all riders be habile. Asward knows a thing or two about sharpening a sword. Apart from Harru, a good smith was hard to find among the wide open plains of the south. No weapon went unsalvaged after a successful raid. They would often have to cycle through these looted weapons before they would have the chance to repair blades.

Without thinking the knife is in his hand. He pinches the handle between his first two fingers and thumb, just as Hassaf had showed him. The Fox had been fond of holding it gingerly by the blade, but after slicing open a finger to the bone, Asward had never attempted that feat again.

He takes a step forward, knees bent, and raises his arm. A small part of him feels foolish for doing so. How could a knife possibly stop a creature that defies death’s embrace? His free arm points toward the fell as he raises the knife back behind his head. With a whip of his arm he lets the blade fly, his fingers snapping together as the knife leaves his hands.

End over end it spirals, traveling into an arc. As the blade sails through the air, Asward pushes himself off, racing through the small clearing. The knife cuts through the autumn rain, spinning promises of pain. It sinks into the fell’s shoulder, buried to the hilt.

The creature hisses and whips its neck around to glare at its assailant. Its eyes burn the same color as the hot coals that the riders used to stoke under the campfires at night. But where those coals facilitated succor and solace, these coals promise nothing but malice. Before Asward reaches the far trees it is already in pursuit, moving with a speed unhindered by death.

[Cadrius]

Heulwen

The Sarcosan has courage, that much is undeniable, but Heulwen suspects that this stranger will meet the same fate as the goblins. Nevertheless, his aim is true and he succeeds in garnering the charred dead’s ire. It gives a quick pursuit of Aswad. Not wanting to waste what little time she might have, Heulwen and Cytail race into the clearing. The eyes of the halfling and the wogren are keen and alert to any possible trap, but none are forthcoming. She swings out of her saddle and hits the wet grass with only the softest sound.

Six women are bound to the white birches by leather cords. They are soaked to the skin and judging by the way they slump against their bonds, they have been here for at least two or three days. The rain and elements coupled with a lack of food and water has made them delirious. They mumble and weakly shy away from Heulwen and Cytaill. One’s eyes are closed, but her chest still moves.

There is no common pattern between the women. Two have the graying hand of time touched upon their heads while one could not have flowered more than a year or two prior. Most have visible bruises, yellow, blue, and black upon their skin, but none appear to have any broken bones. It rapidly becomes clear to Heulwen that these women will have to somehow have to make it out of these woods by shank’s mare.

A heartbeat later, Heulwen pulls the dagger from her belt and begins slashing through the fetters binding the women. The halfling looks up into one young woman’s vacant eyes and riant smile and worries if some of these women might not be mad. Bonds cut, she falls to the wet grass, and pushes herself upright with trembling arms. A minute later and the other women are freed. Some whimper, others have wide eyes full of terror, but at least one gets to her feet, recognizing salvation when she sees it.

[Cadrius]

Aswad

The dead is faster than he thought, hearing it chase close behind him. He sprints through the woods, cutting back and forth between trees, careful to keep his feet from the many roots reaching up through the earth. Being ensnared in their grasp would spell the end for him, and he has no intention for his distraction to serve as a noble sacrifice.

But soon enough his lungs and thighs begin to burn from the strain. Rapidly changing course, he angles around thick trees, trying to force the undead to do something other than chase him.

It doesn’t work.

The creature is as relentless as it is tireless. Chest heaving, Aswad can hear the creature’s spiteful hiss as it seeks out its prey, and he wonders if this is how he will be sent forth to the Sorchef—dispatched by a creature born of fire and hate.

He takes a gamble and pushes his legs just a little bit harder, trying to put distance between him and the monster. Low hanging limbs whip his face with needles and bare branches. Spotting a large oak in the distance, Asward drives himself onward, dredging up every last ounce of inspiration he has. He has to see her again. He’s not going to die here.

His pace slows ever so slightly as he draws close to the trunk of the eldritch tree, and he ducks around the side of it. Spotting a branch, the Sarcosan launches himself into the air and seizes hold of the wet bark. The branch is thick and strong and hardly budges beneath the sudden addition of its weight. Using momentum, Aswad swings his legs up and wraps them around the branch and he hangs suspended above the forest floor. He wills himself to breathe slower and quieter.

The fell tears through the fallen leaves beneath him and heads onward through the forest, away from Asward.

Relief floods through him, but he waits several agonizing minutes, his legs shaking from exhaustion, before letting himself slip back to the ground.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"Do you know the way to the village?" Heulwen asks the woman who seems to recognize what is going on as she attempts to revive the others.

[-J-]

Aswad

The Sarcosan peers through the wet foliage after the rampaging Fell in disbelief.

That...went better...than expected... he thinks as he catches his breath. Not that it was particularily difficult to do better than he had expected. Just about anything is better than having your neck snapped by the burning dead. Hopefully this luck will hold, he thinks as he sprints back through the woods to the clearing. Bursting through the foliage he heads straight for Heulwen and the women. Three of the captives are barely able to walk, only one of them is even marginally cogent.

No way we can carry all of them with any sort of speed...

Take the strong, leave the weak.

The thought springs to the fore of his mind, but he quickly dismisses it.

"We need...to go." he gasps raggedly.

[Kelemyn]

A little hovel in the woods. It all seems so... ordinary. Just what one might expect to find in this part of the country, no? Except that there is something definitely not right about these woods. Aashya's skin has been crawling ever since they stepped back under the trees again. No sane person would make their home here.

What had Aleina said? A legate had a church in these woods. A renegade legate. What is a renegade legate anyway? One that has left the service of Izrador? Wouldn't that be a good thing?

Aashya hangs back, ducking behind a tall fern that stands between her and the dilapidated shack. Through the fern's lacy fronds she stares at the little cook fire, watching as the smoke rises lazily into the damp air.

Someone is at home.

The others hang back too, except for the Dorn who was tracking and is standing more or less in the open. Aleina stands straight and still a few steps behind Aashya, and the Sarcosan girl can't help thinking that the proud woman is leaving herself too exposed. She frowns at her and tries to signal for Aleina to find better cover.

[Cadrius]

Aswad, Heulwen

The woman’s eyes wander across the halfling’s face, searching for her intentions like Lyr searches his tomes for answers. The glimmer of sense within her gaze is dim. She raises a hand and gingerly touches the back of her head. Heulwen can see the fringes of an angry bruise spreading down the side of her neck. Uncertainty sits on her face, plain and unabashed.

“No,” she says at last. “Hit me in the back of the head. I woke up here next to the others.”

She moves to one of the younger girls and pushes the dark hair out of her face, murmuring words of comfort to the delirious youth. The act is intimately familiar to Heulwen. Unity, compassion, and a sense of the group beyond one’s kin was how the halfling slaves had kept from dying of despair. Countless times she had seen one slave comfort another that had felt the terrible sting of the slaver’s lash. She remembered how one, a young boy who had stepped out of line and received a vicious beating in return, had lied prone in a halfling matron’s arms, his wool clothes wet with his own blood. The elder soothed his heart with her words as much as her herbs were a balm for his wounds. He had survived that brutal beating only to die a few weeks later when one of their orcish masters, drunk on grog, had the mind to kill something.

The sound of feet racing through leaves reaches her, despite the near constant patter of rain upon the canopy around the clearing. She tenses, wrapping her hand around the hilt of her sword, but it is merely the stranger, Aswad, and nothing more.

His appearance rouses fear in the woman’s eyes. Uncertainty brimming over, she glances between Heulwen and the newcomer, his voice coming between ragged gasps of air. His gambit to lure the monster away must have worked, at least for now.

“Please,” she says. “You have to help us.”

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Orienting herself quickly, Heulwen points in the direction of the village.

"That way, quickly."

She then turns to the returning Aswad. "The Fell?" she asks.

Heulwen, however, isn't about to take time for niceties like waiting for an answer. Instead, she turns to the two remaining women; the ones who haven't regained their senses and who aren't being tended by one of their own. Picking the smaller of the two, Heulwen goes to her side and engages in the comical sight of trying to help her to her feet. Or at least, the sight of the halfling trying to support a woman nearly twice her size would be comical were it not for the dire situation in which it occured.

"Help her," she says to Aswad, pointing at the remaining woman before whistling Cytaill to her side and using the worgen't much bigger size and strength to support the woman's weight.

[-J-]

“Please,” she says. “You have to help us.”

Woman, what do you think we're doing? Did you not see me with the knife throwing, and the running?

"If you want to live you need to move," he says as he fumbles with the limp form of the young woman. "Moi jitat! he curses as he finally gives up and simply scoops her off the ground and drapes her over his shoulders. Adjusting his passenger he watches as the other women begin to half walk, half stumble out of the clearing.

"The Fell is distracted for now, but it will find its way back shortly," he whispers as Heulwen passes near.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

Aleina heeds Aashya's request for stealth and drops back a short way into the wood as silently as possible, motioning for the others to follow and addressing them in a whisper when they comply.

"From what little I gathered in town, I believe this hovel belongs to a stranger who recently took up residence here. His purpose is unknown; perhaps he searches for a loved one taken by the fell, perhaps he is in their service. I would learn the truth."

She looks at the grim faces gathered around her, lingering a fraction of a second longer on Aashya than the others. Determination was written across Aleina's delicate features, purpose shone in her icy eyes. What she was about to suggest frightened her, not in the least because if anything went wrong the blame was hers, but she must be strong.

"Aashya and I will approach alone and see if anyone is there. We are unarmed and unthreatening. Cover us from the edge of the clearing but be ready to come to our aid quickly. Are there any questions?"

[Cadrius]

Aashya

As different as they might look, Aashya recognizes the similarities between Aleina Sulter and Captain Orella. She had seen the gnome, stocky for his kind and possessing a constant easy smile that disarmed all but the fiercest, display the same kind of confidence and command. From the wide barge that crawled its way up and down the Eren, Orella had dispatched orders to the rest of his crew and family. For gnomes, those two words were often interchangeable. The Sun Fish Trading Family was not as successful or ubiquitous as High Cloud, or as wealthy as Swift Water, but they did survive, and they had a specialty that few other families could match: smuggling. These gnomes were sympathetic to their distant kin, the dwarves, and engaged in crimes punishable by death.

Upon gaining her new family’s trust Aashya understood why it had been contentious to allow her to remain aboard after regaining her strength. She had heard them arguing in their tongue, the polyglottal conversation teasing her with the promise of comprehension that did not come beyond a few words. It was not hard to sense their intent. They gambled in a very dangerous game and it required trust of all players on their side. How easy it would have been for the Shadow to plant a helpless Sarcosan girl among the gnomes. Thinking of how they had taken her in, gave her succor and then trained her in the ways of watercraft, Aashya prays that the Watcher protect them. And whenever she thinks of how they had come to treat her as one of their own it brings mist to her eyes.

Their unity and loyalty made her proud to be a part of them. She had treasured the halfling-worked leather vest they had gifted her when she set off into the Westlands. It bore their sigil—a green fish leaping between the blue waves and the yellow sun. She could not remember her blood family, but she will always remember her water one.

So like Orella, Aleina sets a plan into motion with an underlying assurance that soothes Aashya. It tells her that everything will be fine so long as they follow her orders. Aashya wants to believe her, but she still lets the Erenlander go first.

“Hello?” Aleina calls. The cool exterior is but a mask; Aashya can sense her wariness radiating outward like heat from a bonfire.

Silence meets Aleina’s greeting. She tries again, but none answer. Aashya sees a small frown on her face when she turns back to look at her, but all the Sarcosan can do is give a small shrug and check behind her to see what the others are doing.

Rhotha’ah, a giant if she ever saw one, lurks behind a broad oak, his great ancestral weapon clenched in one massive fist. His opposite, Dun, lithe where the Dorn is broad, holds a similarly thin blade. Soradur lurks beyond, the broad bladed axe sharp with deadly intent.

Aashya looks back and Aleina is at the doorway and waves her forward. There is no one here.

Drawing near to the Erenlander, Aashya wrinkles her nose. Whoever lives in this place does not wash often, or perhaps ever. It is dark within. The only illumination is from the dull gray light seeping in between the cracks and spaces between the wood planks. Aashya draws near the portal, but does not go in. She peers inside.

A ragged cot, worn with dirt and use, sits in the corner. The covers bunched on top of it are in similar repair. On the opposite side is a small fireplace, its hearth filled with soot and ash. But that isn’t what interests Aashya. She stares at the floor, intently. Where the rest of the hovel is shabby and in disrepair, the floor itself appears to have been lade with slab upon slab of granite. It is dirty but there is no mistaking the stone.

She looks up and sees Aleina’s questioning gaze.

[Cadrius]

Aswad, Heulwen

He lends his shoulder to the borderline comatose woman, and when that proves insufficient, he lends his back. Weak fingers clutch at Aswad’s dirty tunic. His beard itches, the black stubble coarse on his neck, and he catches Heulwen’s eyes light upon the scars and calluses on his hands. Through instinct, more than fear, he hides them within the folds of the woman’s dress. Eyes the color of the sea meet those of steel and nothing more is said.

The Sarcosan watches Heulwen’s companion, Cytaill, shoulder the burden of one girl easily enough. The wogren turns its gaze to Heulwen for a moment to understand her intent. From there little else needs to be said. The wogren takes care with his steps not to disturb the her.

As one they pick their way back through the trees, moving slowly with the burden of the invalids. Aswad wonders how long they had been in the woods, and who would take them out here to die at the hands of the lascivious fell.

Time passes. Aswad’s shoulders begin to burn. The woman behind him struggles to support the girl whose arms are draped around her neck. He calls a rest to Heulwen’s apparent chagrin, but the halfling takes the opportunity to temporarily ease Cytaill’s burden.

There are no sounds save their ragged breath and the ever-fall of rain upon the trees above. After a few moments, Aswad, who had been sweating earlier, begins to shiver. The chill of the forest is unnatural and it is undoubtedly linked to the walking dead. He would gladly take the chaos and terror of raiding orc camps with the other sons of Erenland than to start at every noise within these woods.

Soon enough, Heulwen urges them onward again and Aswad finds his second wind.

Some time later, the emerge from the trees on the fringe of Fairbrook. In the distance, Heulwen recognizes the barn they slept in the night prior, and the great cornfield lying between the forest and the farm.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

The relative openness of the cornfield when compared to the forest brings Heulwen's near instinctive caution back to the fore and she halts the group and casts a wary glance around.

"In for a pinch, in for a handful..."

"We'll take the women as far as the barn," Heulwen tells Aswad. After that their fellow villagers can handle things."

[-J-]

Too weary to speak, Aswad simply stares across the waving field of corn toward the barn. A brief gust makes the broad leaves hiss like the surf. Standing at the edge of the golden green ocean of waving stalks Aswad drinks in the breeze. The wind is cool and damp and pure. For a brief moment the Sarcosan's universe consists only of the wind, the sound of singing corn and the cool drops of water from overhanging branches.

The girl draped across his back stirs, and he can feel that brief taste tranquility turning sour. The farmers would not be able to handle the Fell, if they could he wouldn't be standing in the woods with one of their daughters slung across his back like some prize buck. He glances over at Heulwen and Cytaill. They had already done more for these strangers than could have been expected.

That left him. The image of the blackened undead snapping the goblin's neck flashes across him mind, and he can feel his guts turning cold.

"I can take them in if you want to hang back. No sense getting any more attention."

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Breathing a small sigh of relief, Heulwen nods in agreement and eases the unconcious woman off of Cytaill's back and onto the ground. Aswad would clearly need to make more than one trip, and Heulwen would feel better with both herself and Cytaill to stand guard while he was gone.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

Aleina pauses on the threshold for a moment as her eyes adjust to the darkness. The discheveled room is no more and no less than she expected. A wave of surprise shudders through her as her ice blue eyes light upon the stone floor. Was this the remains of the old church? The thought made her blood run cold, yet this course had been her choice: she must learn more. With a whispered word to Aashya to keep her eyes open, Aleina enters and casts her gaze about the dim interior for anything that might give her more information.

<OOC: Search +3, looking for any papers, unusual wear on the stone floor, dead bodies, or whatever>

[Cadrius]

Aswad

Once again, the Lion’s son shoulders a burden. It is not so different now than during his days as a rider of the south. The faces and lands change, but the people stay the same. The strong, the Shadow, do what they will and the weak, the smallfolk, suffer what they must. Through it all, he survives and does what he can. The silk and stalk of corn brush his face and arms like fingers. He pays them no heed.

There is no desire in him to be recognized for these heroics. Grateful though the men of Fairbrook might be, he knows they cannot openly associate with a stranger like him. It raises too many questions that they cannot answer. Soon enough a legate will visit the town to claim a food tithe for the war against the elves in Erethor. Someone would talk, be it spurred by fear or otherwise. The villagers would be damned regardless of their behavior. Any stranger willing to risk his life for these women is undoubtedly part of the resistance. From there, it would grow worse. The legate would want his questions answered. If the townsfolk knew too much, then they would be accused of consorting with a criminal. If they know too little, then they are not fulfilling their obligation to the Shadow. Lashing would ensue, and possibly a hanging or two to set an example for Fairbrook. But if he never goes back into the town he can’t put them at further risk. For all they know, and can tell later should questions arise, the women wandered back out of the woods of their own accord.

The barn looms overhead, an old gray man. It has stood not only through the elements, but the fall of civilization as well. It carries its years well, looking hale to Aswad. Then again, he knows little enough about the life of a farmer. He is a creature of the far south, of the open plains and the bustling cities. It was through his people that these lands were once ruled. Now only the false sussars play the nobleman’s game, traitors to their blood.

Marta, the only one of the womenfolk who was still strong enough to walk, chokes off a cry of joy at the sight of her town. Aswad cannot blame her. By all rights, none of them should have lived to see this village again. He looks over at her. Like most of those living in this area, she claims both Dorn and Sarcosan ancestry. Green eyes stand out against olive skin.

With each step he feels a deep ache in his arms and back and legs. The afternoon had taken its toll upon him, but he shakes fatigue from his back as surely as a boro sheds water. The door swings open, creaking slightly, and reveals the interior of the barn. It smells of wood and hay.

The Sarcosan musters all the gentleness he can muster, forcing himself to slowly lower the comatose woman to the ground rather than drop her like one of the many bails of hay nearby. Marta slumps to her knees and tries to ease the younger girl onto the floor.

Their breath comes in ragged heaves, loud in the stillness of the barn. Rain spatters against the roof and corn, sounding like a thousand tiny footsteps. In the distance, he hears the rumble of what he thinks is thunder. Perhaps this storm isn’t over yet.

He turns to Marta, telling her he’ll be back soon and to not move. She sits on the floor of the barn, wringing her hands, eyes brimming full of tears. There is gratitude in those eyes. Her mouth works, trying to find words of thanks. She finds none. Rising to her feet she crosses the short distance and embraces Aswad, clinging to him, her body wracking with deep sobs. He feels the hot tears on his neck.

It reminds the Sarcosan of her.

OOC: Aswad fails his Listen check. Why would he need that, you ask? Read on.

[Cadrius]

Aleina, Aashya,

The stench of filth and unwashed bodies intensifies as she steps inside the shack. Aleina tries to only breathe through her mouth, but it is no use. The malodorous scent finds a way into her nose. Her stomach turns, but she forces it into stillness. Whoever the hermit is, he must be a stranger to bathing in addition to being mad.

She brushes her jet hair back behind her ears as she kneels down. A quick flick of her hand sends the fine layer of dirt scattering, revealing the granite beneath. She frowns and traces her finger along the groove between two sections of stone. They are well-cut and symmetrical and entirely out of place in this terrible shack. Slants of gray seep in between the gaps in the boards that make up the walls, lighting up parts of the cot in the corner and the small fireplace across from it.

On a whim, Aleina shoves the cot aside with her foot. A piece of stone stands from the others. Where the others are long slabs, this one is small and square. Sticking her fingers in the cracks between the stone she pulls it up and out, grunting with the effort. Revealed beneath the stone is a small leather pouch, worn with age. Pulling it out and putting it to the side she sees a set of floor boards that run beneath the stone. They have the same gaps that speak of poor craftsmanship or blind haste as the rest of the structure.

The Erenlander frowns. It seems quite unlikely to her that this could be the church that Loruk had told her about. She had seen more than one church in her day, and while they varied in size depending upon the population, they were never this small. Moreover, she had never seen one this far removed from the congregation. These woods are not safe, as the townsfolk know, so why would a legate build a church anywhere within the forest?

Turning to the pouch, she pulls it open and shakes out the contents onto the stone square. The clink of metal greets her ears as a dozen coins bounce out onto the stone, gold in color and bearing the visage of a dead king. Once upon a time they might have represented a small fortune for a peasant. Today they are worthless baubles at best, and punishable by the lash if caught by a legate or orc commander.

However, what also clinks out with the coins is a small glass vial. It lacks any stopper or any visible means of opening it, appearing to be sealed on both ends. What is contained within is gray as fog and just as thick. Hesitant, she tilts it from one side to the other, but the gray swirl does not change.

“What do you see?” Dun calls.

[Cadrius]

Heulwen

She watches the Sarcosan go, bearing one comatose woman upon his shoulders. The other one, Marta, helps bear the weight of a girl. They move slowly, their fatigue weighing heavily upon them, taking some time to disappear amidst the corn stalks.

Far to the west, where the farmland ends, the swordgrass stakes its claim. Outside of Fairbrook and the forest, the swordgrass reigns supreme. This autumn rain is rare, and will do little to blunt the edges of the sharp grass. In a week or a month, when the winds sweep out across the plains, great shards of blade grass will be kicked up and pose a threat to any would-be travelers.

The rain had been sprinkling, easing up from the earlier downpour, but it begins coming down again in earnest. Casting an eye skyward shows no end in sight for steel colored clouds. Heulwen looks down at the remaining woman. Thirst had made her mouth greedy and she had gulped at the water in the halfling’s wineskin before falling into a deep slumber.

A short distance away, a scarecrow sits on a pole. Its arms are splayed wide, with straw poking through its greasy clothes. A pumpkin sits on its shoulders with a wicked, lop-sided grin carved into it. It looks like it’s half-amused and half-angry.

Cytaill stretches his hind legs, unused to carrying the bulk of grown human. His tongue lolls out of his mouth and he pants, staring at Heulwen until she scratches the spot behind his ear that he likes. The wogren leans his heavy head into her hand until she stops scratching.

Until this year she has known but one life: slavery. Chance had ruled her life for the orcs and goblin-kin were as like to dispense beatings as death for the same transgression, regardless of its nature. The most depraved among her cruel masters would eat the flesh of the slain halfling raw. No regard was paid to the perceived value of a slave. To them, all halflings were the same.

Now her life is one of the fugitive. No stranger is welcome a village these days, but anyone who saw Heulwen would immediately know she was an escaped slave. Perhaps Aleina or Dun could talk their way past a patrol of orcs or a legate, but Heulwen would be captured on sight and her wogren skinned and turned into a cloak. Without thinking, her hand tightens on the sword at her belt. She will die before that happens. Cytaill looks into her eyes, sensing her anger. She pats him on the head, reassuring him.

Looking down into her wogren’s flinty eyes, she never sees it coming.

The scarecrow shivers ever so slightly in the breeze. It never makes a sound. A flame kindles within the pumpkin though no hand is present to light it. It quivers with anticipation, but it does not rush. Slow, so as to not attract the halfling’s attention, its arms move up to its head and detach the pumpkin from its shoulders. The flame within the gourd does not flicker; it burns with arcane energy.

Then, in one smooth motion, it lobs the gourd at the three of them, sending it sailing through the air. It would almost be comical, if not for the magic stored within.

Cytaill spies the missile in mid-arc and smashes his face into Heulwen’s chest, sending her stumbling backward. The magically charged pumpkin crashes into the ground where she had stood, exploding in a gout of fire. Instinct taking over, she casts an arm in front of her eyes as the heat and flame lick her face. Nearby, she hears Cytaill yelp as his fur and flesh are scorched by the explosion.

The smell of burned pumpkin and flesh fill her nose. Smoke fills the air and tiny fires caused by the explosion burn weakly on the stalks of corn nearby. Her blade is in hand and her eyes immediate locate Cytaill through the smoke. The wogren had leaped to the unconscious woman’s side looking to protect her, but he could not have known what would happen. Patches of fur are missing from his sides and haunches, revealing angry red skin covered with blisters.

Twenty paces away, the scarecrow has come to life and begins climbing down from its perch.

OOC: Heulwen failed her Spot check to spy the scarecrow, but succeeded in her Reflex save to avoid serious damage. Cytaill did not pass and took the brunt of the explosion.

Heulwen – 4 vitality damage.
Cytaill – 4 vitality and 3 wound damage.

Initiative
*Heulwen*
Cytaill
Scarecrow

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"Fuck! Could this day..."

With superstitious fear of the answer, Heulwen cuts herself off and darts forward to try and shred the scarecrow before it can get down from its pole.

"Cytaill, defend the woman."

[OOC: Charge and attack with sword. Cytaill readies an action to attack any enemy approaching within reach of the woman (5' step to enemy and attack).]

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

"What do you see?" Dun calls. Aashya feels her heart jump into her mouth at the sound of his voice. She's on edge, waiting for something to happen. Will the shack's occupant suddenly return (with burned fell in tow)? Or will some hidden danger inside the shack spring forth to attack Aleina? Aashya isn't sure which thought is more unnerving.

She breaks off scanning the surrounding forest to peer inside the dimly lit interior of the shack. Aleina is a grey shadow among grey shadows, but Aashya can see that the other woman has discovered something. She hesitates a moment, then steps just inside the door.

"Dun is asking if you see anything," she says softly. "What have you found?"

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

The beautiful channeler frowns at the glass bounded substance before her. Not common, whatever it was. Her mind twitches deeper, her eerie eyes grow still and the world to either side slides silently away. She is left alone in the black, gripping a tiny swath of grey. Her heart pounds out time in the void until, with a sudden start, she drops back into her body.

She turns her head slightly at Aashya's question but her eyes do not leave the small phial, her own questions more nagging than those of her companions. To whom did it belong? For what purpose was it secreted here? She shakes her head slightly to indicate her uncertainty.

"Some alchemical substance, perhaps."

Her voice is doubtful. She rises and turns to face Aashya.

"I fear it is magical."

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

"Then leave it!" Aashya says, without even taking the time to think about it. Nothing good can come of a mysterious 'magical' substance. Legates have creatures that can smell such things from miles away, or so it is said.

Although one does have to wonder why something magic would be hidden here, of all places.

"Anything else? By the Host, it stinks in here!" Aashya covers her nose with her hand and shakes her head. "Who lives here and why? This forest is an evil place, and this shack is just as bad! Were the village women brought here? What should we do now?"

[Cadrius]

Heulwen

The smoke and heat sting her eyes, but the halfling pays them no heed. Tears are something she has never had time for. So she lets them roll down her cheeks as she rushes forward, grim in her intent. The sword she carries is a crude thing. Its pommel and hilt are as plain as her roughspun overshirt. Castle-forged weapons are for the fey and the Shadow, not for her or her people. But while it might not be pretty, its blade is sharp.

She meets the scarecrow at the base of its pole as it hops onto the ground. It makes no sound, and does not seem any worse for wear from losing its pumpkin head. It raises its stalks in what she can only assume is a defensive posture. It doesn’t matter. She slips it right underneath its arms and jabs the blade into its belly. If her strike causes the thing pain, it doesn’t show it. Instead, it lashes at Heulwen with its straw hands, scraping and cutting her face.

And then it does something she doesn’t expect. It leaps back a step, turns on its heel and moves to run away. Heulwen lunges at its back, stabbing it again. The blade sinks through the ragged clothing the scarecrow wears and sends some hay scattering to the ground. But losing some of its flaxen innards does not seem to slow its step as it runs through the cornstalks and toward the forest.

OOC: Heulwen is hit for 2 VP and succeeds in both her initial attack and the AoO when the scarecrow tries to run away.

Initiative
*Heulwen*
Cytaill
Scarecrow

[-J-]

Aswad

The trembling fullness of her firm, youthful figure presses through the rough burlap of his clothing, and her closeness makes his blood pound thickly though his veins. He stands there, drinking in the smell of her wet hair and relishing in the heat of her breath against his neck. He stands there, unable to do anything but simply breathe and want. He wants to kiss her, to drink the sweet innocence of her lips. He wants to bed her, to feel something besides blade and wind against his skin. He wants to hold her, to squeeze the fear from her and tell her it was going to be all right, and maybe, for just a few moments it would be.

But simply wanting something didn’t make it so.

“I…need to get your friend,” he says at length as he works himself free of her grasp. Staff in hand he moves towards the barn door. His hand touches the wooden latch and he pauses for a moment listening to the patter of rain on the roughly hewed shingles above. “If I fail, the Fell will be back. You need to get somewhere safe,” he says over his shoulder as he pushes the door open.

He leaves without looking back.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

Reluctantly, Aleina agrees with the wisdom in Aashya's words. Keeping the vial was too dangerous and breaking it open too risky. Frustration is a dog worrying at the edges of her calm. She banishes him, accepting that this is the course she must take whether it be good or ill. Too much depended on her judgement; she could not afford to be rash. With cool grace she carefully replaces the items in their hidden niche.

"I see nothing to indicate their were prisoners here. Yet what we find is not ordinary, either."

She exits the shack pensively, letting Aashya make the decision to follow. They rejoin the others and Aleina briefly relates her findings.

"We will search the perimeter of the clearing and try to pick up the trail once more. If we cannot, then we must choose: wait for the owner to return or seek out our companions."

[Black Plauge]

Darting forward, Heulwen strikes again at the scarecrow more in an attempt to speed it along its way than to really give chase.

[OOC: Charge scarecrow again and attack.]

[Cadrius]

Heulwen

The scarecrow runs and Heulwen gives chase. The low hanging corn lashes her cheeks. Her short legs pump, speeding her between stalks and kicking dirt behind her with each step. She catches the scarecrow at the edge of the field. It moves with unnatural grace, speeding across the field despite its lack of feet.

Her blade slices through the air. Once again she finds its golden guts, sending more hay spilling to the ground. This time, the scarecrow does not respond in kind. It keeps running and leaves the halfling far behind as it disappears into the forest.

OOC: Heulwen succeeds again. She’s on fire!

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Satisfied that the scarecrow has been suitably convinced to continue fleeing, Heulwen returns to Cytaill's side.

"I'm going to need some water to tend to those wounds properly. When Aswad returns we'll chance being seen and go with him towards that barn. They should have a well somewhere close by."

Sheething her sword, Heulwen draws her bow and nocks an arrow, watching the woods where the scarecrow disappeared while she waits for Aswad's return.

[Cadrius]

Aswad

He finds her, arrow knocked, eyes sweeping the surroundings for danger. They fix on him, burning. Nerves taut, she trains the arrow point on his chest as he emerges from between the rows of corn—a Sarcosan ghost in rags. All around her the stalks have been scorched by flame, although none burn now. Scratches mar her face. Nearby, Cytaill sits on his haunches, licking his side. The Sarcosan can see patches where the wogren’s fur has been burned away and the skin is red and blistered and angry. The last woman lies unconscious next to Cytaill, her chest rising and falling.

Heulwen relaxes visibly, lowering the bow, but to Aswad her vitality seems amaranthine.
There is a perdurable strength that burns bright within her tiny frame. He wonders how she finds the will to survive in this world where her people are enslaved by cruel masters three times her size. Out in the plains of the south, Aswad and Osrick’s Riders had come across the occasional halfling settlement. Their agrarian lifestyle was peaceful and tranquil and utterly doomed to be ground beneath Jahzir’s boots, and if not the Night King himself, then one of his many generals, such as the ruthless Grial. Those that are not captured become nomads, roaming the great southern expanses in packs. Theirs is a life of ephemeral homes and constant flight. They have much in common with the freeriders.

“We need water,” she says, her voice calm.

[Cadrius]

Aleina

Aleina stares at the vial in her hands, its arcanum eluding her. She knows it is no trinket, can feel it in the way her skin tingles upon first brush, but she knows that Aashya speaks true. She must leave it. Yet the mystery tugs at her mind. The stone slabs and vial are out of place among the squalor of the hermit’s shack. Could one lone, crazed man, loot a church of Izrador? What would be worth the risk and the Shadow’s wrath?

“Out here,” Rhotha’ah’s voice cuts through the air. The note of concern in his voice snaps her reverie. “There is something you must see.”

She tucks the vial back into the space between the stone and wood, placing it gently, uncertain as to how frangible it may be.

The Dorn is waiting for her outside with the others. He had roamed a short distance while Dun and Soradur stood watch outside. His cerulean eyes are impassive, but there is something imperious in his manner. He holds his great blade in one hand, a steel comfort to soothe whatever has ruffled him. A wave of his arm beckons them past the hermit’s home and further into the woods beyond. He does not wait for Aleina and Aashya to catch him before striding off again, weaving between the trees and coming to a halt another fifty paces away.

Three large trees dominate the area, dwarfing Rhotha’ah. Their bark is rough and weathered. Thick branches twist outward, curving up at the ends, and from these branches hang scarecrows. Each has been strung up with a noose and hanged. Eight there are, split between the trees, and Aashya takes a few steps closer to get a better look. After a moment she covers her mouth with one hand, looking at Aleina and then back at the leftmost scarecrow.

It is crudely dressed like Erenlander, bearing the same colors if not the same fabric. Aleina’s eyes comb the rest. One, bigger than the others, is Rhotha’ah. Another, short and broad and colored in grays of stones and rocks is Soradur. Each of her companions hangs up there. Even little Heulwen has her own small scarecrow, swaying in the faint breeze.

She feels Rhotha’ah’s eyes on her and she turns back, meeting his gaze.

“How mad is he?”

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

It takes Aashya several moments to realize what she is seeing. Figures made of straw... dressed to resemble her companions. Dressed to resemble her.

A shiver runs down her spine, though she doesn't know why exactly. She can't fathom a meaning behind it all. Someone crafted these figures, but who? And why? And how did this person even know about them? And why hang straw figures in a tree? WHY??

"This is... this is... It's all wrong. I'm not going to just let him - whoever he is - do this. It's... witchery or something else evil."

Aashya makes for the trunk of the tree and sets about climbing it. The bark is rough on her fingers and makes it hard for her to get a grip, but she manages to scramble up to the branch from which the straw figures are hanging. She crawls out to reach the scarecrow dressed in a reddish tunic and ragged black skirt. Her fingers pull at the rope, trying to release the knot.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

Hands in her sleeves, Aleina studies the crude likenesses as they gently sway on an equally crude gallows. Eight. As disturbing as the sight is, she cannot help but feel a pang of relief that Lyr is likewise represented. Quickly the relief fades to bitterness; once again his knowledge would be a boon, and to her shame he is likely facing danger alone.

Her eyes scan the wood around them, but it is a reflex only. She does not expect anything will have slipped past the watchful eyes of Rhotha'ah or Dun. Instead, as Aashya clambers hastily up the dark tree Aleina considers the mystery in search of more than just a glimmer of understanding. What did it mean?

<OOC: I'll take Knowledge: Weird Hermits for $1000, Alex>

[-J-]

Aswad

"What happened?" Aswad asks incredulously. The smell of burnt corn and dog hang thickly in the wet air. He lifts the unconscious girl off the ground and slings her over his shoulder, adjusting her weight while waiting for a response.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

What did happen... A scarecrow threw its head at us...

"We were attacked," Heulwen states simply, not really sure she wants to give life to the truth by giving it voice.

"Let's move, I need to wash and bind Cytaill's burns."

Her bow still drawn, Heulwen keeps her eyes on the forest line as they make their way through the cornfield. Cytaill follows, threading his way through the corn as carefully as possible. Even so, he occasionally emits a suppresed whine when a corn stalk brushes a burn in just the right way.

Once the group exits the cornfield, Heulwen immediately looks around for a well and heads in that direction.

[-J-]

Aswad

"There's a rain barrel by the barn," Aswad says at length, as he begins to walk toward the old building. He doesn't know why Heulwen is being evasive, and he's not really sure that he cares. Soon she'll be on her way with her friends and he'll be trying to find the Fell.

Nothing else mattered.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Carefully removing Cytaill's saddle, Heulwen pulls the bright red shirt from her bag and tears it into strips before soaking each strip and carefully cleaning and binding the Wogren's burns.

Mumbling to herself as she does so, Heulwen can't help but remember how she first met Cytaill; doing much the same thing as she is doing now.

"No orcs trying to make you fight in the dog ring this time."

[OOC: Heal [roll0] and use racial ability to cast cure minor wounds on Cytaill.]

[-J-]

Aswad

As Heulwen tends her companion, Aswad brings the last of the women into the barn and lays her on the musty smelling hay. He turns, his eyes meeting Marta’s, their unspoken attraction arcing between them like lightning. She begins to step towards him.

“Remember what I said,” he says slowly stopping her advance. “You need to get somewhere safe.” She nods weakly and kneels down to care for her friend. When she looks up again, the Sarcosan is gone.

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

Aswad quietly comes to stand a few yards away from Heulwen and Cytaill. He leans on his staff and watches her carefully bind the large wolf’s wounds. There was a purity in their bond, a magic that defied the darkness that choked the world around them and ground men to their basest edge. He stood there in the pattering rain, the glow of their love dispelling the confusion from his mind as the sun cleared the night.

There were still some things were worth dying for.

Without speaking he removes a small bit of folded leather and lays it on the damp earth, then turns and disappears into the cornfield.

[Cadrius]

Aashya

The oaks and maples of this Westland forest are nothing like the oases dotting the prairies that stretch along the long banks of the Eren. Panocks are the chief residents and are thin and dun-colored to match the dry oceans of swordgrass. By contrast, the venerable woodland statesman that towers over her has hide so dark that it’s almost black and its broad leaves are of the greenest green. Its branches, high overhead, are splayed out like fingers, shielding her and her companions from the rain.

But it is the tree’s macabre adornments that seize her gaze and refuse to let go.

Each scarecrow is a crude mockery of their motley band. It’s a gallows that’s all too personal. The malice behind the hangman’s intent is deafening in the hanged silence. One—Dun it appears—twists in a slow circle, his rags pierced by errant bits of straw. His head is lolled to the side, leaning against his shoulder.

The bark is rough, but her hands are calloused from life as a deckhand. The burn of rope through her palms had thickened her skin until it was like leather. The ascent is easy enough; it’s much like climbing a poorly made and erratic ladder up a mainsail. Hand over hand, the Sarcosan woman climbs until she reaches the stout branch that bears the weight of the hanged.

With all the grace of a practiced sailor, she eases her way out onto the branch and comes to the first of the nooses. Her fingers pull at the rope, yet cannot untie the knot. The knife she pulls from her belt bites deep. She saws back and forth and after a few moments its keen edge severs the noose. The scarecrow falls to the earth with a dull thump of straw hitting leaves. Arms and legs bend unnaturally as only a scarecrow’s can and its soulless eyes stare up at her.

Grim, Aashya sets about cutting the others down. After a time all the hanged lay at rest upon the forest floor.

[Cadrius]

Aleina

In the lands to the south, where Sarcosan peasants till their fields, they’re known as murmets. Their agrarian Halflings neighbors have their own similar word—mommet. But it is the Dorns who name them plain and true: scarecrows. Although, from the stories she’s heard the Dornish version is often draped with a cloak of dead crows. Perhaps they recognize the moldering threat of joining that murdered murder.

There are as many myths surrounding the power of scarecrows as there are cultures dwelling upon Aryth. As a child, Aleina’s father had whispered ghost tales of spirits that dwell within the scarecrows’ straw breasts. The Lost, he called them, souls that were caught between the world of flesh and the swirling ethereal nothing. They wandered Eredane, looking for a home, or a body, to inhabit. Even little girls, he had said, lunging at her and making Aleina squeal but not unhappily.

It was all nonsense of course. There are many strange and horrible things in this world, and the Lost are very much real, but they do not live inside scarecrows. Still, it is hard not to feel the malice radiating from these mockeries like heat from the flame. They do naught but hang, yet it is the very threat of that stillness that sends gooseflesh rippling across her upper arms and back.

Questions plague the beautiful Erenlander. That these vulgar creations were garbed in a similar fashion is troubling enough, but it is how the hangman knew to make one for each of them that bothers her more. She, Dun, and Lyr had parted with the others a day earlier and had only just met again a scant few hours ago. Could a mad hermit have the time and the resources to do this? And to what end? Or are these another’s handiwork altogether? The villagers had said the woods were haunted. There could be more that lurks beneath the boughs than the charred dead. Each possibility is a facet that she turns over and over in her mind, searching for the truth.

But no answers come and she is left with uncertainty gnawing in her belly.

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

Aashya swings around beneath the branch and dangles from it for a moment before dropping back down to the ground. She feels better about the scarecrows now that they are no longer hanging there like condemned criminals on a gibbet. But something about them still bothers her. They just shouldn't be, that's all. She kicks at the one dressed like her until there is nothing left but rags and straw. Then she moves on to destroy each of the others in turn.

[Cadrius]

Heulwen

The wogren’s eyes stare up into her own, unblinking and unwavering. They aren’t golden, no, but are the rich blend of the auric and orange waves of sunrise. His ocher eyes bring back memories unbidden, swimming across her vision to the point where it takes a moment to separate this day from the one where the orcs brought back a new dog to pit against the others.

The Sarcosans are masters of the horse. Their very society revolves around it. There are those that own the animals, those that are allowed to use them—and the lowest of all—those that are denied them. At the spearpoint of their cavalry they had forged a once mighty kingdom that spanned from the Kasmael Sea to the south all the way up to the border forts of the Northern Marches. But as much as the Sarcosans are are a horsepeople, their bond does not, and cannot, compare to the connection between the halflings and the wogren.

There are those among the Sarcosan scholars and academics that believe the wogren are an off-shoot of the legendary animals that dwell within Erethor. It would stand to reason that the faithful and intelligent companions of the halflings would share a common link with the dire creatures that hold an alliance with the elves.

The scholars are wrong.

A wogren is a halfling, in a manner of speaking. They are bound together by blood and spirit as payment to an ancient debt of love and honor. The wogren serve as companions and shepherds and guardians. Ever-faithful, they hold a solemn vigil over the halfling tribes as the years, decades, and centuries roll by. And when a wogren bonds to a halfling it is unbreakable.

Heulwen’s hand is lost in the thick dark fur at the base of Cytaill’s neck. He gazes at her, silent despite the angry red burns on his sides and flanks. Whispering in her people’s language, she chants a word of health that soothes and comforts. She dips the strips of red cloth into the half-full rain barrel, seats herself, and presses them to the wogren’s hide. After a time, the wogren lays his large head in the halfling’s lap, closes his eyes, and sighs. Even now, burned as he is, Heulwen can feel the Cytaill’s love for her that is as infinite as the charcoal gray above. It is a warmth that wards the chill from her bones; knowing that in all of Aryth, here is one soul so devoted to her that he die for her and do it gladly. Heulwen smooth the fur behind the wogren’s neck.

Inside, she can hear the women stirring. There is no rest for the wicked.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

As Aashya destroys the handiwork of the faceless hermit, Aleina has a moment to consider the situation. They had followed a trail here, presumably of a woman in trouble. That was guesswork only - the signs could very well have been from the hermit himself. Either way, they knew he had been here, and so from here he must have left. She looks up at Rhotha'ah.

"Let us search the perimeter and look for any trail. There may be more than one, so we must search carefully."

Aleina circles slowly in one direction and the giant Dorn the other, crossing over one another at the midpoint so as to scan the entire circumference with two sets of eyes. If they found nothing here, they would go back to the hut and perform a similar search. They had stepped on this path and now they must follow it to the end.

[Cadrius]

Aswad

Of all the Sorchef it is perhaps Dal Hali that possesses the most arduous of burdens. As the evening star it is her task to drag the sun from the heavens at the end of each day so that the stars might shine. For centuries, Sarcosan astrologers have gazed upward into the night sky and predicted the future. Their lore permeates all castes, from scholars to warriors to peasants. Every Sarcosan knows at least some of what portents the stars can hold.

In times of stress and strain, it is Dal Hali that the Sarcosans look to for strength. Even before the Sundering, the Sorchef did not give boons to their worshipers. They provided strength through lessons and shared struggles. If Dal Hali can drag the sun from its blazing throne each day, then Aswad can drag his tired body back into the woods and hunt down one monster. So he does, putting one tired leg ahead of the other and passes beneath the thick canopy once more.

The forest is silent save for the patter of rain on the leaves above. It masks his footsteps and breath, but it does little to ease his mind. On the plains, the Lion’s riders had relied on their speed and ability to surprise the greater forces of the Shadow. Here, it would do little good. What advantage would he have? Slitting a fell through would not matter, and if the rain can hide his own footfalls, then it can hide others. He cranes his neck, peering behind trees and shrubs.

Time passes, his feet plod along the dirt and leaves and twigs. Finding the trail is colt’s play. The halfling and the wogren made little enough mark, but the women and Aswad had beaten a plain path. He retraces the steps, feeling again the phantom burn of his back as he bore the weight the unconscious woman. He reaches up and rubs his shoulder, feeling what little meat there is, and wonders not for the first time if he’ll live to see the next dawn. Here he is, alone, in a forest teeming with malevolence. The dead stalk between tree trunks, stealing womenfolk for some horrible purpose. What good is he doing here? They had saved the women and girls. That should be enough. So why is he going back? What part of him wants to die?

But it’s another question that leaves his bones chilled. How much of him wants to live?

He reaches the clearing and peeks around the trunk of a thick maple. The aftermath of the undead monster’s wrath is evident. Shrubs and plants have been torn out of the ground and hurled about in a rage. The ground even looks to have been torn asunder in places with dirt spattered about, the rain changing it from brown to almost black. His brow creases as he frowns. All this destruction will make it hard to find the fell.

But tracking won’t be necessary. It is already here.

He feels it before he sees it. Waves of primal loathing and hate crash over him, making him shiver involuntarily. His heart quickens and his hand clenches the rough bark knot on the trunk. Aswad pulls his head back behind the tree until only one eye can see where the creature is, where he can feel it coming from.

It steps out from behind the far side of the clearing, wroth with desires denied. Its hands clench and unclench like Aswad’s father’s used to when he was furious. Steam seeps upward from the cracks in its charred skin and it stalks through the clearing as if its prize may reappear at any moment. Aswad feels the lump of terror forming in his throat. He swallows it.

The Lion’s son fears nothing.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

Looking up at the sounds of the women stirring within the barn, Heulwen scans for Aswad, but can't see him.

"Where did that human get off to now..." she mutters as she straightens up and looks around with more care than before.

Spotting the folded leather on the ground, Heulwen goes over to it and picks it up. Opening it up to look inside, she finds the arrow heads. Puzzled at first, Heulwen picks one out to examine it closely, noting its craftsmanship. Placing it back with the others, she turns her attention to the tracks at her feet and realization dawns on her as she reads the story they have to tell.

"Damnable fool!"

Casting another look around, she turns to Cytaill and speaks half to him and half to herself, "The man has a death wish. We'll follow him, for now. He's headed back in the direction we need to go anyway to try and rejoin the others. If we find him, maybe we can slap some sense into him."

[-J-]

Aswad

I should not be here.

The thought worms its way into the Sarcosan’s mind as he quietly watches the Fell rampage about the clearing. The creature’s skin hissed like water dropped on coals as it effortlessly uprooted small trees in its mindless search.

I should go and get the others. The dwarf and Dorn would be up for a fight, of that he is fairly certain. Heulwen would make an excellent skirmisher. Together they could do it. They could kill the beast, save the town and then he and Aashya could ride off together.

Aashya.

He remembered when she first came to their camp, so many summers ago. They were only children then but he knew she was the one. She was the person that made all of the pain of living under the Shadow’s yoke bearable, his sunrise and sunset, his everything.

And then he took her.

Aswad’s hand tightens on his staff as he recalls the sickening thump of the rock as it crushed the back of his father’s head. The Lion of the Desert felled in the dead of night by his own son. Hot tears well in Aswad’s eyes, and his throat tightens.

He hadn’t questioned how she had returned to his life, or how it was that she didn’t remember him. For a brief time he thought it was fate’s way of forgiving him of his crime, but now he realized there was no forgiveness. The law of Shoref was clear.

In one smooth motion Aswad steps out from behind tree and levels his staff at the creature.

Blood demanded blood.

[Cadrius]

Aleina, Aashya

The Dorn looks down at her, mighty thewed, and nods his assent. Far removed from the cities and culture of the Sarcosans, his ancestry is one where civilization and the wild hold a truce and coexist not in harmony, but in familiarity. The elves are the people of Erethor, the dwarves are the people of the Kaladruns, and the Dorns are the people of Eredane. Long before the Sarcosan cogs landed upon the shores of the south, the Dorns ruled. By blood and steel they forged their kingdoms. True to their nature, it was only when they were defeated in battle did the great northern lords bend the knee to the Sarcosans.

It is the men of the north who bore the worst of Izrador’s machinations. It was their homes and cities that felt the first wave of darkness break. Nalford was sacked amidst a maelstrom of unholy wrath. In Cale, they unleashed a horror that was not of this world. It was in Highwall that the combined knowledge of thousands of scholars was taken and corrupted. The Scholar’s Academy was razed to the ground and rebuilt in horrible parody as Theros Obsidia.

Despite his people having been utterly conquered, Rhotha’ah still clings to the Dornish pride, honor, and way of life. He keeps his head shaved as a mark of shame and recognition of his people’s loss. When pressed, he will acknowledge that the Dorn obsession with single combat and the glory it brought had been corrupted. When the Shadow came, his people were weakened from the years of obsessive combat.

To Aleina his eyes blaze with blue fire here beneath the heavy branches of the hangman’s oak. They burn with an intensity and rage that paces its cage like a wild cat, searching for a way out. She cannot offer him blood, not yet, but she can give him this: the smell of earth, the rustle of leaves, and the trail of prey.

They find the footprints soon. Leading south, the trail takes them beyond the oak and further away from the shack. Rhotha’ah makes no pretense at stealth, but his large feet still make little noise amidst the wet leaves and fallen twigs. The footprints move with a purpose, not meandering, but taking a path away from the tree.

As the trail ends, they come to a stop. A hundred paces distant lies another shack, but this one is in an even worse state than the hermit’s. The roof has caved in and half of the boards are missing. Aleina crosses the distance and draws near, feeling the presence of the Dorn right behind her. She measures her stride, steady but not quick. She stops a short distance from it, her eyes cooling appraising the structure.

It doesn’t feel abandoned; it feels empty. It lacks spirit. Where the hermit’s shack is a pitiful sight, it still bears the scent of life. This collection of rotting wood does not. It is blank with naught but the echo of ghosts. If anyone had lived here, it has been a very long time since.

Returning to where the trail stopped, Rhotha’ah scans the area. He eventually finds the footprints again. They do not stray close to the hovel and instead move back through the trees toward the shack.

[Cadrius]

Aswad

Among the men of the south, patricide is one of the gravest sins. Those that are caught are stripped of their rank and status, becoming sheol, never to be given the right of horse again. Further, they are banished from Sarcosan lands upon pain of death. Aswad was never caught. The orcish battalion that swept down upon the Lion’s riders killed without mercy. Those that were not butchered on the scene were scattered to the winds, fleeing across the great open plains.

None had seen him that night. None had borne witness to the ignoble death of Osrick, Lion of the South, Scourge of the Shadow. It was only Aswad’s eyes, brimming with rage and then tears, that watched as the heavy rock rose and fell, coming away crimson. It was only Aswad’s ears that heard the sickening crunch of his father’s skull fracturing. It was only Aswad’s skin that felt the terrible rush that marked his father’s spirit spiraling out into the ether. Did his father make it to the Sorchef for the eternal heaven ride? Did he deserve it? Does Aswad?

The smell of cooked man-flesh fills his nose. It turns his stomach and yet reminds him he hasn’t had a good, hot meal since he left the south. The fell’s head snaps up, rage interrupted, and turns to face the Sarcosan kinslayer.

The staff sits in his hand, feeling as much an extension of his arm as a cavalry spear. Once upon a time, he had watched with primal glee as the spear point disappeared beneath the folds of orcish mail, sending a stream of blood spraying onto the swordgrass. There was satisfaction to be found in death, even if the world would not mourn the passing of one orc. This is one cub that is well acquainted with the hunt.

Aswad spins the staff with his hand, a flourish, and beckons the monster onward. Its mouth, a lecherous rictus, twists into a ghastly smile. Blistered skin cracks and it moves forward, full of intent.

The boy becomes a man. The cub becomes a lion.


Heulwen

The way is slow.

Cytaill does not limp, but the patches of his body where the fur was burned away are still angry and red. Through their spiritual connection Heulwen can feel his pain. His sides and haunches hurt, but the wet of the air feels good on his skin. Beneath that is an undercurrent of pride. He had saved a life.

But despite their intangible link the mind of a wogren is entirely unlike that of a halfling. There are emotions and thoughts that swirl beneath the surface that she cannot fathom. At times when Cytaill looks at her with his lucent eyes she can tell that there is part of him that is not of this world.

The Sarcosan’s trail is not hard to find. Where his feet do not blaze a path of trampled grass and dented earth his smell gives him away. The scent of rage and determination linger in the damp air. There’s something else there too; something sour. Fey. She hastens her pace. Cytaill does the same.

They pass back into the weald, the world around them darkening beneath the thick canopy.


Aswad

The fell lunches for him, its great arms sweeping through the air. Aswad displays a grace and speed that belies his ragged appearance. He pivots, ducking away from its grasp, and swings his staff in a wide arc. It hammers into the fell’s shins with a satisfying crack, but whether it was the wood or the undead bone that splintered is unknown.

It falls forward, hissing in anger as it crashes into the ground. Aswad wastes no time, swinging the staff again. There’s a dull whoosh as it rushes through the air and hammers down upon the fell’s head. The impact drive’s the creature’s face into the ground. It shoves against the ground and rolls away from Aswad. The Sarcosan follows it, continuing his frenzied assault. Yet death has not slowed the fell’s reflexes and it eludes the strike.

Aswad watches as it rises to its feet with a fluid grace. The monster’s chest shakes and hitches. It takes a moment for the realization to dawn on the Sarcosan, but it sends a chill through his veins even though the heat of battle is upon him.

It's laughing.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

The world of spirits rests on her neck, sending chill thoughts through her living mind. This place was devoid of life yet still she felt uneasy. The slight channeler holds up a hand to halt the others and signals Aashya closer.

"As before, Aashya and I will approach and see what we may find. Stay wary, for we do not know what is near."

With that, she approaches cautiously, her pale eyes searching.

[Cadrius]

Aswad

The two foes circle each other, step for step, searching for weakness. Aswad’s dark eyes lock with the blazing fell’s own. Life and death clash in the gap between them. The air is taught with the threat of violence. His breath comes both deep and quick and his blood sings with fear and exhilaration. The fell’s breast moves not at all.

Aswad comes at the scorched man again, feinting at its face before sweeping the staff around low, aiming for the crook of its knee. But what worked once before does not work again. With preternatural speed it pivots as Aswad comes in and the staff slices through naught but air.

One night at the campfire with the riders of the south, Freid, the giant ugly Dorn, had gotten in his cups. He had stumbled about the camp, raging and cursing and challenging any and everyone to a duel. Aswad has stood up and attempted to calm Freid. He laid a single hand on the giant’s arm, but the Dorn had been so besot with drink that he had cocked his fist and punched Aswad square in the jaw. Stars had rioted across his eyes and he collapsed in a heap much to the amusement of the rest of the riders.

When the fell punches him now, it reminds him of Freid. Its fist hammers into his side, sending jagged spears of pain shooting through him. He spins away, clutching his side and brandishing the staff.

The fell grins and advances on him.

((OOC: Aswad takes 7 VP))

[Cadrius]

Aleina, Aashya

They approach the hovel with care, picking their way gingerly through the sodden brown leaves. Aashya’s heart beats hard enough to try and tear its way out of her breast. Aleina’s does not flicker. Her fear manifests in a different way. Where Aashya’s blood sings with the fire to live, Aleina’s fear works in placid conjunction with her mind. The terror does not rule her; it sharpens her; it grants her clarity.

The hut is in disrepair. Half of roof has caved in from a thick fallen branch and with the gaping door way and empty windows it bears entirely too much resemblance to a crushed skull for Aashya’s liking. Aleina observes it with a cool detachment, glancing upward at the tree to spot the jagged nub where the branch had once lived. Her cerulean eyes turn back to the hut. She takes a step forward, and then another, and then she is staring through the portal and into the dim remains within.

Aashya looks back to Rhotha’ah and Dun. Their blades have been freed from their sheaths, seeming of little use here in these dark and cursed woods. Yet the two men stand a little taller, reassured by the weight and threat of steel. Their confidence inspires the same within her. None show fear and Aashya resolves not to either.

Within the hut lies a cot, rotting and partly concealed by the fallen roof. The moldering rags in the near corner were once clothes. A small strongbox in the opposite corner is in a similar state of decay. It is closed. No soul has lived here in some time and when they left they did not pause to take their meager belongings.

Aashya peers around the side of the shack, her chestnut eyes taking in the entropy. The hut strikes her as sad. A home needs an owner like a body needs a soul. She stares at it with a sense of foreboding brushing the small of her back like chill fingers. Something bad happened here.

Her eye is caught by a flash of color amidst the browns and greens. Beyond the shack, a hundred paces distant, she saw it between the trees. Her eyes narrow and her eyes track back and forth across the forest. There! A flash of blue silk and a pale arm. Aashya blinks. It’s gone.

[Gralhruk]

Aleina

The emptiness within gives her pause; her delicate hands move with cool precision as she reaches up and lowers her hood. A step behind, she can feel Aashya's uncertainty. It would be easy to admit that she is no more sure of their course than any of the others. Easy, and deadly. For when one is lost it is best to strike out in a direction and follow it, lest you lose yourself further.

No, the way was forward. Into the hut she goes, oblivious to Aashya's sighting without. For her, the contents of this abandoned dwelling were of the utmost importance. Here there might be a clue that could shed light on this otherwise dark mystery.

<<OOC: Search everything inside, starting with the strongbox >>

[Kelemyn]

Aashya

A bit of blue. Aashya stares hard at the greens and browns of the forest until it all swims before her eyes. Where did it go? Had it really been there at all?

Yes, she is sure of what she saw. Blue silk. She is reluctant to look away for fear of missing it if it comes again. But she turns her head just long enough to find Soradur and signal to him that she had seen something out there, something not right. Then she gazes off into the distance again, and begins to creep carefully forward, eyes alert for any movement.

Aashya will move about 10 yards beyond the shack in the direction she'd seen the flash of blue silk. Spot = -1 (oh nuts).

[Cadrius]

Aswad

His growl matches the fell’s own, stride for stride, in both intensity and malice. The pain that had wracked his body is banished with an all-consuming wrath. His fire burns just as brightly as the malevolent heat that dwells within the undead monster’s breast. His blood, the lion’s own crimson, is up and it will not rest until one of them is broken and shattered upon this forest floor. Here, with none to bear witness save the mute oaks, maples and birches, his fate will be decided.

The growl becomes a roar, a primal scream of defiance and rage. It is more than a desire to live; it is a refutation of the abomination before him. Fear does not touch his soul. He has no room for it. There is only the staff in his hands and the song his blood sings in his ears. His roar would chill an ordinary man to his core, freezing the blood in his veins. The fell merely watches him with ravenous eyes.

Aswad launches himself at it, coming in fast. The staff is a blur in his hands. The blows land once, twice, thrice. Here, it crushes the creature’s nose sending a burst of steaming blood spraying onto the ground. There, it pounds into its midsection. He brings it around and down, hammering it into the fell’s knee and a crack resounds through the woods.

He holds his staff, now broken in twain, its twin laying fractured on the ground. The fell grins its horrible grin and seizes Aswad by the throat. But it isn’t the crushing strength that makes his eyes go wide. It’s the heat. It feels as if the fell has a handful of coals pressing against his neck, scalding his flesh. The grip is just loose enough to allow the thinnest stream of air into his lungs, but no more. A moment later the sickening aroma of cooked skin begins to waft into his nose.

It drives him backward. Aswad clenches his fists and flails at it with his hands and feet. He strikes head, throat, and manhood with every ounce of his strength. The blows give the fell no pause or harm, and it crashes his head into the rough bark of a broad tree, sending an explosion of pain flooding his vision. His head aches. The blood thrums in his veins.

He’s jerked forward until he can feel the raw heat waving off of the monster’s face. His vision focuses. It’s staring at him with eyes that are not dead at all, but instead blaze with a wrath that knows no reason or recourse other than to kill. He can feel the hatred intermingling with the foul magic that has cursed it with a purpose after death.

The fell smashes Aswad back into the tree again. And again. And again. The Sarcosan’s blows become weaker and weaker until they are no more effective than a gentle breeze. A fleeting memory of her, dark hair flowing over her shoulders, conjures into his mind. It’s the last comfort before the final ride.

The darkness steals over him.

[Cadrius]

Aleina, Aashya

Aashya creeps forward, her feet noiselessly brushing through the sodden mat of leaves blanketing the ground. She squints, peering, searching for that bright flash of azure standing in stark contrast against the brown of the woods. Her slim figure weaves between the trees, uncertain if she should be silent or if she should call out.

She cannot find the blue anywhere. Aashya scouts up and down, left and right, and finds nothing. There’s no scrap of dress, no mark of foot. She realizes soon that the more she looks, the further she wanders away from the hut.

Aleina reaches out a hand, not gingerly, but cautiously, and brushes it against the side of the rotting strong box. Part of the wood gives at her touch, sluicing away at the slightest contact. It feels wet. Everything in the ruined hovel feels ravaged by time and tide. She takes care as she grips the strongbox, but it comes apart like so much mush. There is nothing inside. The former residents took what meager possessions they had before they left.

The tracks by the hermit’s shack lead here, but there is nothing that dwells here save the ghosts of the past.

[Cadrius]

Heulwen

The blade slides into the fell with ease. Its steel path takes it underneath the back of its skull and up into its brain. It twitches, blazing eyes going wide in surprise, and then collapses, slumped over the fallen form of Aswad. Its limbs spasm, death throes not limited to those that have already died. Its blood, hot and clear like boiling water, sizzles on the wet leaves. Cytaill trots over, his flinty gaze watching the fell warily, but a few sniffs and he seems satisfied that the monstrosity will not trouble them any longer.

Killing it was the easy part. Rolling it off Aswad is hard. Yet the wogren bends his strength to the task and eventually they slide it off onto the ground. Within moments, the earth beneath it begins to churn and roil and the corpse begins to slide beneath the ground.

She bends to Aswad, placing her ear above his mouth, searching for life, but preparing for the grim task of making certain her brief companion does not rise again. His body is battered and bloody. Crimson marks the bark of the tree behind him. Ugly dark bruises mar his face. His clothing, already threadbare, is torn. Nearby, his staff lies shattered.

He lives, but barely.

His breath is faint and shallow, so much that his breast does not appear to move. Yet his spirit is tenacious, clinging desperately. Better to stay in this dark coil than shuffle off to the howling abyss of the beyond. His eyes open, awash with pain and confusion, and a soft groan escapes his lips.

[Black Plauge]

Heulwen

"Spit in the Forsaken One's eye! He still lives."

The bright red shirt Feyd had procured for her in Kingscross rapidly becomes strips to bind Aswad's wounds.

"These won't show the blood well," Heulwen tells him as he rouses, "but they'll keep your wounds clean. You'll just have to keep track of how blood soaked they are yourself."

Once his wounds are bound, Heulwen slaps the human, scolding him, "What were you thinking, taking on that Fell all by yourself? We have others to meet up with who could have helped and led to a much more favorable outcome."

[-J-]

Aswad

Damn Fell…can’t do anything right…

Heulwen’s tone stings more than her hand as she reprimands him. She is right, of course. He shouldn’t have gone off alone. He should have waited for the others. He struggles to his knees, his bruised and burned body a mutiny of pain. Bits and pieces of the last few minutes begin to filter their way back into his mind - the hot panic of melee, the searing agony of the Fell’s grip...

…the peace of release.

Half kneeling, half sitting, he tries to thank his savior, but the cooked meat of his throat could manage nothing more than a ragged, guttural cough. Tears burn down the ravaged flesh of his cheek.

I’m…mute!?

Despair washes over him. He spies the broken splinters of his staff lying in the still steaming grass. Fayed had carved that staff for him from the when he turned 13. In the dim light of forest undergrowth he can still make out the faint tick marks he had carved into it denoting his victories. He wanted to take them in his hand again. He wanted to bear his proud badges of honor into the field one more time and die with them, as he should have moments ago.

But such fantasies were no longer possible.

Struggling to compose himself, he lowers his head until it touches Heulwen’s feet, trying to explain to her with a simple gesture what he could not with his broken throat.

She had saved him.

She was a child in a world of giants, and still she had thrown herself against a foe that would freeze the blood of men ten times her size.

What ever he was, what ever he would have been was meaningless.

His life belonged to her now.