K N I G H T
Forlorn eyes dwindled, and amidst the voices of her troop, she heard the sentient voice of her kin plague her ears; “And when you do so find your piss-ant glory, it will be not Torm who watches you. No, sister, sweet sister…know that it will always be me in shadows…watching you, hounding you…until at last, in your final moments of virtue – I will destroy you, desecrate you…ruin you, until whatever remnants of your life remain are utterly spent.” Loathing flashed vividly in her mind’s eye – she felt the hatred of her kin’s gaze; it damned her…cursed her, and in the last moments of dissipating shadow, she hopelessly tried to understand Zedek and his intentions. Why her? Why choose the bedeviled paladin as their leader and captain? She was cursed, he knew that. Despite the seemingly honorable task before them, she had never felt such trepidation in her heart. The journey ahead of them would forever change all of their lives – or claim them. A soft sigh escaped her breast and she tethered the magical tote to her cinch. "I'll follow you to the ends of the earth, my lady Beth-Dagon," she heard the drow's flattery, spoken through midnight lips, laced with honey and - by her assumptions - false candor. "If you'll have me, that is." She trusted nothing about the drow, and for good reason, but she did her best to reserve her judgement. "Easy there ladykiller. It's just not seemly to fraternize with your captain." Caleb heard Caine next, and although she regarded him silently, she agreed with him. She did not have time for fraternizing.
"Give me no reason to dismiss you, drow - than mote it be." She replied dryly.
♫
Lucien is no longer your bard
But I assure you I am just as well
I am a master of many instruments and tales.
Behold your bard is Johnathan of the illumination!
And none will serve you with a greater passion than I.
♫
The lyrics of a winsome voice broke Caleb from her brief reverie, and when the entertainer emerged from the thicket - on the back of a white steed - she gave a droll smile and looked away. “I welcome you, Johnathan…the Crowcatcher does not waste time.” She began to take a few steps towards the borders of the camp. “The stage is set, then, and the players present. Let us be off.” She spoke uncharacteristic words with a hint of humor - a rarity at best – then gave one last look to her companions. Such a group; it was a cluster of souls from one corner of faerun to the next, all harboring separate intentions, emotions, beliefs, and gods. “A concoction for disaster,” she thought bitterly. She was no stranger to doubt and underestimation; Caleb knew that many thought her unfit for leadership, and she often felt the same. Yet she had lead men and women countless times in her last fifteen years of service. Still, she could not help but feeling there was some other purpose for her lead.
By the time they were ready to depart, she was hesitant. The final member of their entourage and not yet shown his face – the barbarian from the icy wilds of Spine of the World. Perhaps the Zedek has chosen against his employment – it was dangerous to have such a companion; Caleb had seen more than one berserker turn and murder their own brethren. A shudder coursed through her. Caleb paced for a bucket filled to the brim with water, and grabbed it douse the camp-fire flames. “From herein, cook-fires will be kept separate from camp, and doused after use,” she told them. The reason was simple, yet the logic and practice often escaped even the most intelligent: fires betrayed your whereabouts, why keep them where you slept? In one swift moved, she tossed the water atop the flames and smothered the heat, reaping a squeal and hiss from the coals in a cloud of hot steam.
When no others posed qualms to leaving, and the barbarian had not shown himself, she took the initiative and began to head into the tress. The forest trail was cowled by red and gold veils and the sun had risen over the canopy, mingling with pale clouds on the azure. Soft sunrays filtered through the autumn leaves, revealing flecks and fragments of dust and pollen drifting down from the cover. It was a brisk and chilly morning, but the Cloakwood embraced them tightly and huddled what warmth it could. She reckoned the group would no likely remain close-knit throughout their travels; each seemed to have a different method of travel and trekking. She did not care; so long as she kept tabs on them all, she did not care.
It would be an hour march until they breached the edges of the forest, and from there, about a three hour walk along the coast-way until they intervened on the caravan’s supposive path. She only hoped Zedek was right…
Forlorn eyes dwindled, and amidst the voices of her troop, she heard the sentient voice of her kin plague her ears; “And when you do so find your piss-ant glory, it will be not Torm who watches you. No, sister, sweet sister…know that it will always be me in shadows…watching you, hounding you…until at last, in your final moments of virtue – I will destroy you, desecrate you…ruin you, until whatever remnants of your life remain are utterly spent.” Loathing flashed vividly in her mind’s eye – she felt the hatred of her kin’s gaze; it damned her…cursed her, and in the last moments of dissipating shadow, she hopelessly tried to understand Zedek and his intentions. Why her? Why choose the bedeviled paladin as their leader and captain? She was cursed, he knew that. Despite the seemingly honorable task before them, she had never felt such trepidation in her heart. The journey ahead of them would forever change all of their lives – or claim them. A soft sigh escaped her breast and she tethered the magical tote to her cinch. "I'll follow you to the ends of the earth, my lady Beth-Dagon," she heard the drow's flattery, spoken through midnight lips, laced with honey and - by her assumptions - false candor. "If you'll have me, that is." She trusted nothing about the drow, and for good reason, but she did her best to reserve her judgement. "Easy there ladykiller. It's just not seemly to fraternize with your captain." Caleb heard Caine next, and although she regarded him silently, she agreed with him. She did not have time for fraternizing.
"Give me no reason to dismiss you, drow - than mote it be." She replied dryly.
♫
Lucien is no longer your bard
But I assure you I am just as well
I am a master of many instruments and tales.
Behold your bard is Johnathan of the illumination!
And none will serve you with a greater passion than I.
♫
The lyrics of a winsome voice broke Caleb from her brief reverie, and when the entertainer emerged from the thicket - on the back of a white steed - she gave a droll smile and looked away. “I welcome you, Johnathan…the Crowcatcher does not waste time.” She began to take a few steps towards the borders of the camp. “The stage is set, then, and the players present. Let us be off.” She spoke uncharacteristic words with a hint of humor - a rarity at best – then gave one last look to her companions. Such a group; it was a cluster of souls from one corner of faerun to the next, all harboring separate intentions, emotions, beliefs, and gods. “A concoction for disaster,” she thought bitterly. She was no stranger to doubt and underestimation; Caleb knew that many thought her unfit for leadership, and she often felt the same. Yet she had lead men and women countless times in her last fifteen years of service. Still, she could not help but feeling there was some other purpose for her lead.
By the time they were ready to depart, she was hesitant. The final member of their entourage and not yet shown his face – the barbarian from the icy wilds of Spine of the World. Perhaps the Zedek has chosen against his employment – it was dangerous to have such a companion; Caleb had seen more than one berserker turn and murder their own brethren. A shudder coursed through her. Caleb paced for a bucket filled to the brim with water, and grabbed it douse the camp-fire flames. “From herein, cook-fires will be kept separate from camp, and doused after use,” she told them. The reason was simple, yet the logic and practice often escaped even the most intelligent: fires betrayed your whereabouts, why keep them where you slept? In one swift moved, she tossed the water atop the flames and smothered the heat, reaping a squeal and hiss from the coals in a cloud of hot steam.
When no others posed qualms to leaving, and the barbarian had not shown himself, she took the initiative and began to head into the tress. The forest trail was cowled by red and gold veils and the sun had risen over the canopy, mingling with pale clouds on the azure. Soft sunrays filtered through the autumn leaves, revealing flecks and fragments of dust and pollen drifting down from the cover. It was a brisk and chilly morning, but the Cloakwood embraced them tightly and huddled what warmth it could. She reckoned the group would no likely remain close-knit throughout their travels; each seemed to have a different method of travel and trekking. She did not care; so long as she kept tabs on them all, she did not care.
It would be an hour march until they breached the edges of the forest, and from there, about a three hour walk along the coast-way until they intervened on the caravan’s supposive path. She only hoped Zedek was right…