The Sword Coast

Yonder the amber dance, and into the deep thicket of the forest belly, the Monk drew into her soul the peace and tranquility of all that encompassed her this night. The left toe of her maleable boot was plastered upon the blanket of flora, and her right foot gently and featheringly was placed upon her left calf muscle with the seemingly akward bend of her knee. A neck, softly sun-kissed and slender, was elongated as her chin tilted towards the heavens above. With eyes closed, and the silently perfected animation of her hands, she whispered from her rose red lips winds of orisons to flutter into the still of the night air. Neither the phantom gusts of frigid gales, nor the pitter-patter of wildlife could thwart such a mind void of pensiveness, and emptied into complete and utter concentration. When the cool atmosphere danced upon whatever flesh was bare, she let it flow from the canals of her mind; when a twig would snap, she would allow that, too, to wash away from her thoughts. In her head right now was nothing short of a void - there was nothing there but peace and the complete connection of her soul. Basked in light violet robes with silver trimmings and a flowery decor, she seemed at complete ease. To get to this state had been an endeavor that held both its merits and its dangers. Yet, at the same time, as pointless as one may deem this relaxed state, it was also a danger to her enemies. To have the influence over every movement, every fiber of sinew, and every thread of bone, was something that could prove fatal in battle. Without weapons Aletrayu, the Sun Soul Monk, could be easily mistakened for a doe. Such a display of paragon glinting and sparking when engaged was a great sight to see, but its system was extremely flawed. Nothing - nothing could compare to the sheer ability to accomplish great feats unarmed. It was a true skill of combat, tact, and self-control.

This female had been in this same state for a few hours; sleep attempting to interlope when it was not welcomed. This journey would be one that was tasking, arduous, and dangerous. There was no turning back from what was destined. When the last shiver of troubled thoughts abandoned her mind, those soft fleshy curtains fluently peeled open to divulge that envious shimmer of a clear mind through the mingling of canary and chestnut orbs. When Aletrayu was at peace in mind and soul, it was transparent to others. One could see no wrath, fear, or tremoring thoughts wrinkled into the skin of her facet. Everything about her would somehow turn into a bright lustre, and she was neither content nor anything negative; it was almost like a limbo of her emotions.

Pivotting upon her heel seconds after placing her wayward foot upon the ground, she moved towards that distant campfire. That halo of silk, inky and soft, drenched over her crown and down to her midback. However little she thought of herself in regards to her appearance, to be untidy was unbecoming of her person. She went to great lengths to take care of herself, for she thought that in order to tend to the soul, one must always render careful aid to its shell. As she neared the cannibal element of fire, which she enjoyed thuroughly, the muscular figure of Caleb was caught in the snare of her eyes. Drawing closer, it was by no hint of power that the distress of the woman was imprinted upon her face. Honestly, the fiery knight starkly contrasted that clean look in this elder cast of night. Caleb was never a sight for sore eyes, but it was not usual to witness her neglect to care for herself.

It could not be said that what fell across her lips was a smile, but the ghostly curl of of being rid of all things troubling and bothersome. Fingers, thick with trained musculature, yet long at the same time to stave off a masculine appearance, entwined at the lap of her attire. "Troubled?" The Monk did not know Caleb all that well, and would not deny her well-deserved space and silence if that was what she wished at this moment. Many, much like the turbulant mind of the woman before her, would always inquire as to just how Aletrayu could maintain such an uncaring state in the face of what could be certain doom. She would always reply with the same thing; it was being one with yourself and fate. It was trust that your deity would carry you upon the wings of their embrace. It was knowing the peace and harmony of yourself, as well as your capabilities and fears. Then, lastly, it was having the intestinal fortitude to dismiss all that will make you tumble and fall, and rise with a courage that has always been trapped within. The emotions of fear, sadness, and pain were always deviling within her core, but she had faith - and that was unable to be maimed no matter the damage to her person.

Taking a moment to flit her eyes over the scenery that surrounded them, she figured that everyone else was still pleasantly lost in their slumber. She couldn't blame them. Something about careful meditation made her mind feel free, and her body being depraved from the burden of nagging sleep.

Torrential waves of flames drenched the village in vibrant shades of crimson, orange, and amber, giving the sky an almost hellish sheen as coal black smoke continued to rise over the heads of panicked villagers. Homesteads were quickly reduced to ashen ruin; choruses of screams filled the air like a symphony of chaos written by the most demented and depraved souls to have ever walked upon the Abyssal planes. Families fled with children in their arms, others stayed a safe distance away as their souls were wrenched in sorrow watching their childhood homes burn to the ground. Amid the roiling chaos, one man surveyed his work proudly with his hands at his waist cackling in triumph.

His dark eyes continued to gleam in the firelight while he stood on the only road leading into the village. So far from other settlements, the likelihood of help arriving before the structures collapsed was slim. Villagers passed by the stranger, shooting him glances of shock and confusion as they fled the rising inferno. Some stopped to plead for his assistance, whereas others simply took it upon themselves to try to save what was left using their primitive irrigation system.

Again, Kanvergiss could only laugh mockingly at their feeble attempts to survive.

The inhabitants only made it so far before a sharp pain collided with their backs, the force of the impact enough to send them sprawling into the dirt. Darkness was an excellent cover for murder, Kanvergiss believed. His vest of throwing knives wasn’t nearly empty, snuffing the lives of stragglers as they passed. A sadistic glee-ridden chill ran up his spine as the dull THUD of the knife reached his ears, eliciting a smile from the young man.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Brolo quickly opened his eyes, having propped his body up against his birchwood staff instead of lying down with his head in the dirt like many of the others. Not that he considered himself better than the others in the Bloodsails, just that he was a little more random in his sleeping patterns. The sorcerer looked down at his hands, noticing that his fingers had gnarled themselves into the final spell position for his explosive pyre, which made the sorcerer grin.

”To think if anyone would have woken me, they would be a charred corpse in an instant.” Brolo wriggled his fingers, making sure to not lose the spell first as he stood up and surveyed the camp. The others were still asleep, aside from the Monk and the Paladin which in truth, he didn’t quite understand. It must have been their utter disrespect for the powers that be, those powers being chaos of course. He never bragged to be a supporter of Talos, nor did he make himself stand out any more than the other mercenaries, but Brolo did indeed choose to shoot first and ask questions later.

The sorcerer could overhear the women prattling on to themselves, not so interested in their conversation as he pulled the tip of his staff from the dirt. He was a good looking young man some might say, not too on in his years being just a few shy of thirty. Brolo kept his long, dark hair tied back in a tight ponytail, the rest of it either being slicked back with some substance used for styling or just left slightly looser in the front. Today it seemed that a few lone strands were to dangle in his face as they would go about their day. A quick survey of his surroundings noted that it was still night, leaving the sorcerer to wonder why his companions (to which he was told he had to entrust his life) were already awake and shunning their slumber.

“If you’re having trouble sleeping, I don’t think it’s beyond Caine’s ability to offer a merciful punch to assist in knocking you out.” Brolo said as he spoke from across the fire, the flames almost tracing him in golden-red light. His dark eyes shimmered as he moved from around the fire towards the two, checking his vest with his free hand while his staff rested between his elbow and his chest. “It’s still the middle of the night, and I believe it’s someone’s turn for watch duty.” Brolo commented, keeping a decent distance between the two, lining himself up with their bodies so that from above they looked almost like a perfect triangle.

Depending on whom the query was being directed towards, one might think that the elven and human races were either eerily similar or oddly disparate. The elven race is long lived, majestic and closely bound to nature whereas the humans seem to be doing all that they can to tear down the Earth and all of her children in order to make room for their selves. Their short, harried lives cause them to make quick and often foolish decisions leading to rash actions that affect not only their race but every other race surrounding them.

It is for these reasons that Araina tended to step away from camp at night to fall into her reverie, the elven dream-like state more akin to meditation than actual slumber. East of the fire and small circle of bedrolls, a slowly sloping hill rose towards the sky and at its crest was a clearing surrounded by ancient oak trees. The druidess had found this spot when they had scouted the area, making sure that the way was clear for camp and immediately she knew this was where she would settle in for the evening, taking up the mantle of ‘first watch’ along with her elven kin.

For the reverie of elves was dissimilar to the human’s slumber in many ways, allowing them to be aware of their surroundings at all times even if they weren’t able to immediately act upon dangers. Instead of closing her eyes and dreaming, Araina’s eyes were opened and a slightly dazed countenance would appear to anyone that approached her. Instead of dreams or nightmares, elves tended to relive past memories either joyous or terrifying though they had no control over which of these past events cycled through their minds.

So, upon settling into the silent green grove after the humans had lain upon the ground, Araina prayed to the Forest Father for guidance and strength, for wisdom and compassion, for nature itself and for the souls of those that destroyed it. Her gaze glazed over as she meditated upon these thoughts and after a short span of time, recollections of her past began to surface.

Pant. Pant. Pant.

Inhale, exhale, stop, listen.

The smoke-filled air burned at her lungs but she could not stop her trek now. She was too close to her goal and would not falter in the path set before her.

A bright flicker of light off set by a plume of smoke caught her eye and her heart tripped over itself as one of the majestic and ancient trees tumbled to the ground with a thunderous boom.

Humans. Her thoughts echoed for but a second as her feet found the earth once more, digging into it with each labored step and each forcibly drawn breath so that she could ease closer to the commotion to see what was happening, in detail.

Upon reaching the fire and the flames, Araina hid behind an untouched ash tree, taking shelter from the prying eyes of the large mob gathered around the edges of the forest.

“Set it ablaze! Quickly, men! We shall not wish to see hide nor hair of the dreaded beasts as long as we stake claim to this town!” A tall man stomped his metal-clad boot down upon the ground, adding flair to his statement as he pointed a gloved hand towards the untouched patches of bush and briar so that the torch-wielding commoners could set them alight.

Fire… Nature’s enemy…. Araina’s arid lips parted slightly in sorrow and a single tear slid from her eye as she saw the death and destruction wrought upon those that she was meant to protect and shelter.

Failure… Yet, it did not have to be this way. The humans did not have to win this game and they most definitely would not survive the night even if they had tried.

Stepping back and planting her feet firmly in the earthen floor to center her, Araina allowed her eyelids to close for a moment and she rose both of her hands and her chin skyward.

“Forest father… help us…” she murmured, knowing that passion and not volume raised his good graces.

Her mouth opened and a loud warbling battle cry issued from her throat followed by a string of words in druidic, a language known only to her kind. The plants and animals and caretakers of the forest- calling them to aid her in pushing back the fire-wielding men to save the woods that they called home.

Drawing her staff from the leather loop on her back, Araina opened twin emerald orbs and drew one more deep breath before rushing out into the throng of men, her staff moving almost as fluidly as the rest of her body in combat. Twirling like a dancer, she extended her staff and struck the first man in the head, stunning him enough both literally and figuratively so that his body immediately fell upon the ground. She allowed her eyes to flicker about until they focused on the leader of men, the man issuing his orders and hiding behind his cold steel armor.

Another loud rumbling sound issued from her right and her teeth clenched, expecting another tree to fall beside her but instead, a large brown bear galloped from the underbrush, plowing over a half-dozen men before it came to a halt. It roared, loudly, and it was then that the rest of the forest erupted with the sounds of life.

Squawks, roars, gibbering, growls, hoots and screams accompanied the approach of the forest’s inhabitants and an eerie smile danced upon the druidess’ lips as she turned to the armored man, lifting her staff so that it pointed directly at him so that there would be no questions as to whom she was addressing.

“Leave this forest now, flee and warn your kin that we do not take kindly to being invaded. Stick to your cities and your shores and your villages and do not encroach upon the forest any longer. We will not give up our homes easily.”

The man paused, faltering as if he had not expected an opposition and then it seemed that the Gods themselves heard her ultimatum. Rain began to fall heavily from the skies, allowing the burning trees to be extinguished one by one as the handful of woodland creatures that had responded to her call, rallied around her.

Sensing defeat, the man put out his torch and sheathed his weapon before turning to the flame-haired elven lass with his jaw set in determination. Yet he did not say a word and instead, motioned for some of his followers to pick up the incapacitated man so that they could take him with them as they retreated.


A flash of movement caught Araina’s eye, followed by the subtle cadence of voices, human voices, causing her to willfully drag herself out of her reverie and long forgotten memories and into the present day. The moon was descending onto the horizon and the sun was slowly beginning to thread its fingers into the twilight, trying eagerly to pull itself from its slumber just as the humans were doing.

Twitching her ear slightly, like a cat, Araina caught three separate voices in the darkness and once more she drew in her breath though this time it was clean and fresh, lacking the harsh smokiness of her memories.

Pushing one hand into the ground, Araina stood and adjusted her clothing then pulled her staff out so she could use it as a walking stick. The elder branch looked as if it was still alive with green sprigs shooting from its apex and one slender, pale hand wrapped around its center as she made her way down to the campfire.

“It’s still the middle of the night, and I believe it’s someone’s turn for watch duty.” The fire mage’s words filtered towards her pointed ears as she made her way into the camp itself, sticking to the edges and closer to the woods so that she was seen but not too close to the others.

“If you wish to sleep then do so. I do not need any more rest….” Her words trailed off slightly though she was already keeping her tone low out of respect for those still in slumber. No, with memories like that she did not need to spend any more time today in reverie. Her people had new problems to contend with, something was disturbing the animals of her homeland and this time, she didn’t believe that humans were wholly responsible.

Her emerald gaze settled upon Caleb and she sensed a restlessness within her “I can watch over everyone until dawn.”

Azrael

Azrael watched the camp from a distance, sitting beneath one of the many trees that made up Cloakwood. His eyes didn’t focus on anything in particular, at times watching the flickering flame or closing as he thought. He had risen many hours ago, not being one for sleeping very long, instead sleeping only a handful of hours a night, at least on most nights. Whether it was achievable due to his many years of practice or due to his Elven blood he could no longer remember, the days when he slept long periods forgotten, if ever present. For the assassin it was simply the way things were, he woke far before most and usually he had such times to himself, taking advantage of the silence, focusing his mind and preparing himself for whatever was to come. Apparently the day was not going to be as it usually was, as people were rising from slumber earlier than they did most days, and if he believed in such things he would call it an omen. Chances were it was nerves, most were bothered when a new assignment was to be given or when they were to move soon, even seasoned veterans such as the individuals that comprised their small group. Then again there were many reasons to awake earlier than need be. It caught his interest that multiple people were gathering around the fire. His eyes focused on the three that had already come together, inspecting them from afar.

As he watched, he pulled out a particularly sour type apple found in the woods, something he had scavenged earlier before he settled beneath the tree. He ran his thumb over the glossy peel, searching for any rotten parts, even pulling out his little stone to insure that it was perfectly fine to eat, always being rather cautious with food, especially in Cloakwood. When he was satisfied that all was well he began to take small bites of the crisp fruit, continuing to watch the others from afar. He hadn’t come to know much about those he traveled with yet, talking to the others but divulging nothing of importance during the conversations. If anything he was usually just flirting without real intent with one of the ladies or chatting lightly to pass the time. He had figured out the names of each of them though, that much had been easy enough and made him seem so much friendlier, if such things were even possible. Other than their names he had learned a bit about their fighting styles and basic habits from watching, each one of them bringing something different to the table, including himself. It was a diverse group, no doubt created like it was on purpose.

He turned his mind away from pondering just what the groups true purpose was, not caring much seeing as he had his own reason for joining up, and instead turned his attention back towards the three gathered. The first to have taken a seat was Caleb, a tough woman to be sure but also, as her current state made clear, she was quite beautiful as well. To Azrael she seemed reliable, a relative point of view to be sure but she had a feel to her that if, and when, something went wrong, she would know how to handle it. Then there was the Monk, Aletrayu. She had been up for some time but her routine was similar to his own, out of the way, quiet, and peaceful, so it didn’t really bother him. There was the Sorcerer Brolo as well though, a man whom Azrael had disliked from the beginning. There was no real reason for his dislike of the man, he was just one of those people, a natural irritant to the Assassin. Maybe it was his personality but it didn’t much matter, Azrael had his own reason for being with the group and it did not include getting into it with the Sorcerer, so he made himself civil whenever they spoke. Besides, even if he disliked the sorcerer, there were others he disliked more in the world, and he hadn’t killed them. Hell, not that it mattered how much he liked someone, for the right amount of money he would kill just about anyone.

The thought of being paid to kill the sorcerer amused the Assassin, if only he was really paid to kill people he personally found annoying, life would be so much more enjoyable. The man took a final bite out of the apple, tossing the core back into the thick wooding behind him before pushing himself up off the tree, deciding to be a bit sociable instead of watching from afar, he did enough of that in his line of business. As he began walking over, he paused, watching as another joined the group. It particularly caught his attention because, like himself, she had not been in camp but away from it, farther than he was in fact. It did make sense if he thought about it, she was a druid and an Elf at that, it was a double dose of nature friendly. With a shrug he made his way over to the group, his boots causing him to make no noise so he whistled gently as he approached, not about to sneak up behind a group of trained combatants, whether it would really be all that dangerous or not. Azrael got close to the fire immediately, only briefly nodding to the others, not being one for a cheery hello, especially when everyone was just waking. So he let his body warm up a bit, catching Araina offer to watch over them all. He was not about to go back to sleep though, no, his long day had already started and if she decided to keep watch he would simply give her a hand, although he had a hard time picturing everyone else just going back to their slumber.

The night was dreamless for the Fighter hailing from Baldur's Gate. A symphony of snoring escaped the mouth of his tent as he slept with his head propped up on his shield and his enchanted cloak over his large frame. The cloak managed to keep him warm in the chilly night thanks to that enchantment. The sleeping countenance of the fighter was relaxed and even somewhat serene despite his brutish nature. Truthfully, the warrior had no worries to speak of. Life and death were just two sides of the same coin, one he flipped every day that he woke up in the morning. He had faith in Tymora and trusted his luck in everything that he did. It was no different that night than it had been for countless others.

In truth, while Caine felt no worries, he did feel excitement. A new day brought on a new fight and a new adventure. He was never one of those sit and watch kind of being, nor was he a thoughtful man. He lived to test his mettle day in and day out. Caravan guarding, bounty hunting, bandit cleansing, mercenary work, it was all a means to an end for Caine. And that end was to live his life to the fullest, filled to the brim with excitement and danger. He often thought of his life like the tales the bards sang. Glorious battles and honor hard won. Of course, there had yet to be a glorious battle for the Fighter and his honor tallied up to nothing more than a mercenary. Still, it did little to dissuade Caine from his chosen profession. Perhaps he would find his battle yet.

Then the Fighter drifted awake, his mind still dazed and groggy from sleep. At first he closed his eyes once more in search of slumber, as a glance through his tent flap revealed it to still be night. However much as he tried, he could not will himself back to sleep. An hour passed and he still found himself awake as sleep was found to be elusive. He sighed and gave up and instead began to stare at the roof of his tent. The light of the sun was bound to rise in a couple of hours anyway, so what was the use of sleep? A waste of time in his eyes. His thoughts lingered on the silly elves and their method of sleep- or unsleep. His bones began to itch for activity. He began to toss and turn underneath the warming cloak in an effort to exhaust the itch yet it still proved rather resilient. His hand found it's way to the the coin strung around his neck as it usually did in times of idleness, his thumb tracing the grove worn into the gold metal. Nothing could relieve Caine of his restlessness, save getting up. At least he wasn't the only one who was awake. He could hear a couple of the others likewise employed with him moving outside.

Finally giving up and giving in to his restless urge, Caine sat up in his makeshift bed. A glance to his side revealed his equipment strewn haphazardly around his tent. He collected his boots and his tunic and left the tent, making his way to the fire. As he approached, he managed to catch Brolo's comment.

"I don't punch women, Kanvergiss," He replied to the sorcerer's comment, "Especially when one can punch harder than me," he finished with a nod to the Monk. The proximity of the fire illuminated the body of the Fighter, displaying a number of scars etching his stout frame and the tattoo inked into his right arm, not to mention the glint of Tymora's coin laying flat on his chest. He donned his tunic and approached the gathering around the fire and took a seat between Brolo and Aletrayu. He held his boots close to the fire in order to allow the flames to let the heat sink into the cool leather. As he waited, he added with a grin, "The Smiling Lady favors the brave and the bold, not the stupid. I'd get my arm snapped for sure." It wasn't a fight Caine was against, mind, and in truth the Fighter would probably have found enjoyment in the scuffle. However, it was neither the time nor place for such games.

As he slipped into his boots, the campfire was approached by two more of their company. The Druid and the Assassin. He shot a curt greeting to both of them and then began to poke and prod the fire with a stick, sending billows of sparks up into the air. Then came Araina's offer to keep watch. "I'm not going to be able to get back to sleep," he shrugged, "Now that I'm already up. Sunrise shouldn't be too far off now anyway, right?" he asked.

There was something to be said about the stars in the sky. The drow of the underdark often never see them, or the sun for that matter. In fact, Veilyn himself had not gazed upon the infinite expanse of space until he was a ninety-seven, a lifetime for humans, but for him, just a brief chapter of his life. Something about the stars stirred within him a sense of awe, a primal feeling that started in his stomach and clawed its way into his heart that told him, "behold how insignificant you are in the grand scheme of things." It was thoughts like these that filled his mind during his reveries, which often; as they had this evening; take place on a thin roll arranged outside so that he could gaze for hours into the blackness. He had long forsaken the practice of reliving his memories, for he had too many, and very few of them pleasant. "Besides," he often argued to himself, "there is no use dwelling in the past."

Though he had distanced himself from the camp by a sufficiently large margin, he was acutely aware of the gathering around the fire. First, was Caleb, the Paladin. Veilyn liked her a lot, and not just because she was attractive. Despite being one of those "virtuous" people, she had the same kind of grim strength that so many that survived the underdark share, a demeanor that only graces those who have been through hell, and lived. Second came the Monk, whose name Veilyn could still not confidently pronounce, forcing him to refer to her with names such as, "you", "monk", "girl", or "kid". She was pretty, not the same way as Caleb. Where Caleb was strong, Aletrayu was refined. Where the paladin was grim, the monk was stoic. Veilyn's ears picked up the monk's voice for a brief moment, before the night fell silent again, and only the crackling of the fire could be heard. Then came the sorcerer, Brolo. Veilyn didn't know what to think about him. He had a recklessness about him that Veilyn respected, but it was recklessness spawned from inexperience, rather than experience. He did seem a little short tempered, but Veilyn had yet no quarrel with him, so it was best to let him be. Morning must have been creeping up on them, and the sun's light dimmed the stars as it prepared to crack over the horizon and spill it's golden light all across the landscape.

Turning his attention back to the fire, he saw that two others had joined the group. The druid, Araina, and the newcomer, Azrael. There was little that Veilyn had to say about Araina. She was a surface elf, which automatically put a strain on their relationship, and though undoubtedly attractive, she seemed like the kind of nature-loving, tree-hugging elven stereotype that Veilyn tried to avoid. If he ever pursued anything with her, he felt as if it would somehow involve the forest in an unpleasant way. Azrael, on the other hand, was the one Veilyn was watching out for. Veilyn, of course, had long ago learned never to fully trust anyone, especially new people, but this went deeper. He was always aloof, and he had a strange habit of waking in the small hours of the morning. In talking with him, Veilyn realized that Azrael talked around his past and his motives. Whatever they were, the man did not want Veilyn to know. He'd also noticed that Azrael never makes a sound when walking, even when stepping on branches or dry leaves, meaning that the man had boots enchanted for utter silence. Veilyn knew very well the shadowy paths, and he knew that only thieves and killers bothered to silence their footsteps. The most off-putting thing about Azrael though, was his similarity to Veilyn, at least in outward interaction. He played charismatic to learn about the group but the way he acted when he wasn't chatting someone up suggested it was only superficial. Veilyn would not let his guard down.

He pulled himself from his state of rest and stood, refreshed and ready for the day. It was still sufficiently dark, and the shadows still clung to his armor and cloak, slightly obscuring him. Adjusting his straps, he fastened his sword to his waist and his bow around his torso. He took one more moment to stretch before stepping softly towards the fire. Another man had joined them, Caine. He reminded Veilyn of Caleb, and he wondered why the two were not a couple, although he had an eagerness that she did not, which was probably off-putting to her. As Veilyn neared, the light from the fire melted off the last remnants of the darkness that clung to Veilyn, and cast his shadow long behind him whilst illuminating him a strange mix of firelight and morning sunlight. Veilyn caught the end of what the Paladin said, but did not deign to reply, as he had nothing to add. Instead, he lead with a different topic, his cadence slowing for a moment as Caleb left.

"I am not too late to this party, am I? Fashionably late is one thing, but most of you are here and that makes me feel like I am interrupting something. I hope that is not the case." He glanced around, then continued before anyone could reply,"So... breakfast?"

Cloak Wood, it was a nice enough place. There was always some sort of adventure to be had, all one had to do was walk in the woods for a day and some sort of encounter or confrontation could almost be assured. Still, Lucien was a wanderer at heart. Wonderlust was his birthright as a Moon Elf, and keeping camp in seclusion for a month was about all the bard could handle. It would have been alright had they actually been in a city, there were lots of different things to do in cities. But he had been all through these woods already, he knew the secret spots, the hidey-holes, and he was already a well known figure at the various wayfarers' inns within walking distance. He was at one such inn now, enrapturing the patron's of the inn's bar with his harp.

This would ideally be his last performance in the area, the Bloodsails would be moving on in the morning, so he was going to soak up all of the attention and admiration he could. Apart from wandering from land to land, exploring, experiencing, and seeing, he loved to have an audience to play for. There was simply noting like it. The thrill of having an audience, the gratification afforded by demonstrating his skills to impress others and garner their admiration.

Eventually, the crowd of patrons dispersed to their bedrooms, some called by their internal clocks, others by their lovers and mistresses. For his part, Lucien stayed in the tavern room, resting in a booth against the wall. Slipping easily into the trance-like state of the reverie. His was not a troubled rest, this time his visions were of a past performance, this one in a city square. Such visions were far and away the most common. Though less pleasant one were beginning to become more and more frequent, especially after the outbreak of the plague.

Lucien roused himself from his reverie in the early morning hours. It was still dark out, but he decided it was about time to return to camp. Wouldn't want to miss the departure. And come to think of it, he still hadn't received the mission details. He hoped Caleb, or Zaccheus would fill them in soon, the anticipation was killing him. As Lucien walked back to camp, he idly strummed at his harp, the sound filtering through the woods. After a time, he arrived back at camp. Seeing most everyone around the fire he approached as well, calling out in a bright manner, "My my, aren't we all up early?" He had caught Caleb's call to mobilize, but his gear was already packed, he was always ready to go off exploring and adventuring at a moment's notice. It would seem he had arrived just in time to set out.

Emerald orbs surveyed the scene around the campfire as the druidess stood apart from the others, seeking the comfort of the trees lining the clearing rather than the people within. Her right shoulder rested against the gently curved trunk of a hiexel tree, one of the two arbor oddities that existed in Cloakwood. The tree itself was easily identifiable, bearing a green, waxy wood and marked by oval shaped leaves and sparse branches. While the others began to pack their belongings, Araina slung her staff into its sling upon her back, turned and then rested her hand against the tree as if sensing something about it.

To the others, it may look like she was praying, and they wouldn’t be far from the truth. She was, in fact, asking the tree for the use of its wood since it may prove useful in their journeys. Hiexel wood burns and produces a thick, black smoke that is oily and chokes those that breathe it in, making it useful to drive off enemies or light signal beacon fires.

A soft green glow seemed to shimmer between her palm and the bark whilst several branches fell suddenly to the ground. The druidess smiled, a slight curvature of petal pink lips as she stepped back and bowed towards the tree.

Ask and you shall receive…. Her thoughts were casual as she picked up the wood which had been cast off and took a length of cloth from one of the many pouches hanging loosely from her leather belt. Winding the strip carefully about the small bundle of switches, she secured them tightly then hooked the free end of cloth around her belt so that the pack of hiexel kindling hung against her hip as well.

It was only then that she meandered closer to the fire, green eyes still regarding the flames with subtle hostility before lifting up once more to regard her companions. They were an affable lot, mostly. Caleb seemed an archetypal strong and silent type- beautiful enough to be amongst the finest in the human cities yet choosing a life on the road. In fact, it seemed odd that most of the people she traveled with were each eye-catching in their own way.

The monk, Aletrayu, was exotic in appearance yet had a calming quality that extended to those surrounding her unlike Brolo, the fire mage, who tended to incite the darkest emotions in others. Azrael and Lucien were closer kin than they appeared. Both the moon elf and half elf exhibiting the sort of charismatic life-loving attitude that most of her long-lived species seemed known for. What good was an extended life if one didn’t enjoy themselves? It was a mantra that many of her elven kindred shared and she couldn’t fault them for such an attitude. They laughed frequently and flirted shamelessly but were both formidable when the situation called for it.

Their darker elven brother, Veilyn, was equally charming but she could not overlook the innate hostilities between their people. The constant warring between the sun-kissed races and the shadow-tainted hordes left little love between them and even when a drow left the Underdark to venture up onto the surface, he or she was still usually discriminated against. Still, she tended to love or disdain all living creatures with equality, so she treated the dark elf as casually as she did any of her other party members. That even included the human, Caine. Despite her predisposition to abhorring the human race for the atrocities it commits on a regular basis against Nature, she tried diligently not to fault him for the acts of his people especially since she would be required to travel extensively with him.

Her thoughts had once more gave way to the reality set before her as the others began to circle once more about the fire. Everyone seemed to be laden with packs and bags of various weight, causing her to inquire, “Do any of you require assistance with your things?” Her voice once more issued throughout the quiet campsite, a melodic lilt affecting her tone the way it did for most woodland elves. It was an honest inquiry, for the druidess had little of her own to take with her. The various herbs and foodstuffs that she gathered were carried in the pouches hanging about her hips, her weaponry was a light enough load and she required no tent or bedroll. Having lived over a century living off only what nature provided, she was adept at procuring what she might need with the occasional aid of the Forest Father.

Syranni Yukreth

The ranger stirred in the midst of tranquil slumber; dreams running amok in foreboding terror in living vivid color. As if it were not enough that she ventured in conquest of something with strangers that did not appeal to her uneasy personality. It wasn't that the feral elf was hard to put up with, rather that this group was an unharmonious lot; Drow, sorcerers, knights - enough to cause a squabble when the going got a bit rough. Most of all, it was a clash of personalities. The only friend she had here was the druid, of whom grew to be somewhat of a mentor to her for years uncountable. That, and her slick companion, a loyal cheetah that would take the blow of an enemy long before she, herself, would.

Voices rose Syranni from the dark confines of her sleep, and for that, she was agitated. Did these people know no kind of humility whatsoever? All respect was thrown out of the window this morning, and when she looked through the small slit of the tent, she witnessed something that would make her even more livid; the peak of the dawn approaching so telling of just how early it really was.

Without hesitation, she rolled out of her makeshift bed that consisted of a hide spread, and a thin blanket comprised of threadbare wool. Upon her back, when she let feet carry her body to the other side, she equipped her quiver after ensuring each arrow was accounted for. Afterwards, she claimed her bow, and stepped out into the open space of the outdoors.

Attire went without the slightest degree of modesty. After all, she had dwelled in the dark shades birthed by a canopy of trees amongst her own kind. She wasn't about to change that because of people who's opinions mattered little to her. One could say that she merely wore undergarments with a small amount of armor.

With silently orchestrated steps, she place the thumb and index finger of her left hand to her lips. A slow but sharp whistle fell from her mouth, ringing through the expanse before her. The wooded area rustled a bit, and from its maw barreled the slick and muscular feline. This was Syranni's companion, a wild cat faster than most humans. It heeled by her side, and the wood elf fell onto one knee, the other bent, to place a hand aloft the furred animal.

With each stroke across the fur rimmed spine, she spoke with the soften flutter of her lips, "Were you awakened as well? I suppose you went and got yourself something to eat. One of these days we will find our sleep again without the disturbances." It didn't seem to matter that anyone else around, speaking to the animal with a familial tone. She had this ability to speak with her, and it made their relationship all the more better.

Standing up, she turned to finally face the throng that gathered about the fire. Her facet fell into an expression of blatant annoyance with the, what felt like, small amount of sleep she got. Her cat agreed fully. Regardless, she watched as some left and others ran their traps carelessly. Crossing her arms, which were muscular in their make, she decided to just observe the others. Naturally, she was not very feminine in appearance, much like Caleb.

Mornings had always been Veilyn's favorite time of the day. This, of course, was converse to most people, who were usually groggy, slow, and affected with an adverse disposition. Fortunately, his current group was not at all like that. They were eager, awake, and wore some semblance of vitality on their faces. This could be partly attributed to the job at hand, but Veilyn wanted to give his companions some credit. At Caine's suggestion, Veilyn casually opened his pack, and set up a small spit with some measure of dexterity. He searched the external pockets of his pack for a moment before producing a mid-sized pouch, which emptied into a pile of bite-sized chunks of salted pork. A second pouch revealed strips of a seasoned jerky that he had to smell to identify. He pierced the pork and placed it over the fire.

"Feel free to contribute..." He called out to no one in particular. As fate would have it, his ears were regaled by the voice that he could recognize through nearly any weather.

“Did someone say breakfast? I’m famished.” Her words had perhaps not the elegance of poetry, but it was the lips that loosed them that Veilyn deemed most important. Nevae, the resident Cleric, had arrived. Veilyn had been not-so-subtly attempting to ignite the all too familiar sparks between the two of them. Of all the women aboard, he had early on picked Nevae as his favorite. She was young, pretty, and playful. More importantly, neither of them were permanent members of this troop. If things went south, and they always did, Veilyn could simply leave with little repercussion. To himself he mused that, should she fall for his charm, could she expect a relationship to last? She was a human. She was bound with a limited life, and Veilyn would still be a youth even if she lived a hundred years. He straightened and addressed her.

"Nevae..."His voice was like silver, "Just who I was anticipating, looking better than expected. Of course, I am known to underestimate." He gave a slight bow, and turned to to the cooking meat. He plucked the biggest piece and offered it to her, taking a smaller piece for himself. "Would those be new boots? I admit to being in want of a new pair myself, but I can't bring myself to part with my current pair. We've been through much together..." His voice trailed off, though he did not divert attention from Nevae.

Caine returned from his tent, this time donning the full armor that marked him as a fighter. He wasn't the picture of a knight in shining armor, which in Veilyn's opinion was the only upside to wearing heavy armor. It's slow, and the additional protection it provides does not make up for the added attention drawn during a fight. Admittedly, if there were no people like Caine in the world to wear heavy armor and draw the attention of all the monsters, all the people akin to Veilyn would not last long. Thus was Veilyn's way of giving credit where credit was due.

The real attention grabber of the group had at last made his appearance. Zaccheus Zedekiah, their employer. The man was not someone Veilyn looked forward to meeting in a dark forest. Despite his wit and charisma, which rivaled that of the bards, he had an air of creepiness about him. Nothing looked just in place, as if just a tiny bit were wrong with everything about him. Veilyn tried not to think about him at night. Compounding that, he was unpredictable. Most of the time he seemed just as likely to kill a friend as save them. But, he was the employer, the one with the money. Until Veilyn had his chance, his word was the one to be followed. He stepped from Caleb's tent, which brought into question why he was even in there, and addressed the group.

“Good morning, my intrepid friends! I trust you are all ready to depart?”

Veilyn did not deign a vocal response, because for one, speaking while eating is mostly considered rude, and two, speaking directly to the man was something Veilyn liked to avoid. No need to draw attention from that man. Instead, Veilyn nodded quietly, assuming one of the others would speak for the group.

Nevae
❄ ❄ ❄

All greetings were met in kind, head nodding in acknowledgement. It was an aroma that grabbed her attentions, though, wafting towards her from the fire. Her scenes awoke, renewing the desire for food with ferocious tenacity. The less than subtle hint was met with reward; trophy handed over in the form of barbequed swine. Despite the company of battle-hardened soldiers, the cleric ate the salted meat daintily. Eyes closed, briefly, enjoying the cured pork that reminded her of her home high in the North.

“Thank you.” She murmured, pleasant smile returning youthful features. Her tone hinted at mild approval, curve of lips encouraging. Thick lashes reopened, eyes of pale azure fixing on the drow. Slender fingers were licked clean with meticulous care, removing any residue of the morning snack.

“You flatter, Veilyn.” The cleric’s mind slipped to the obvious game that had developed between the two. While the innuendos and compliments were amusing, her motives were material in origin. She contemplated what the rogue had to offer should she give in to the suggestive undertones, mind quick to fantasize about stolen trinkets and gems. Nevae’s face gave impression of naivety and youth yet it was a carefully cultivated mask to achieve what she desired most: wealth.

Vision glanced down, ankle twisting to give show of the boots. The price tag attached to such a pair was clearly more than the salary of their employment. In fact, they had been acquired in the last town they had past through. A very generous woman had given them in offering to Nevae in honour of Auril upon the cleric’s warnings of a harsh winter to come. Perhaps a little fear spell had aided her intensions. The pale cleric thanked her Goddess. Auril had told her that she would lead a life of privilege through her worshipping, and so far the Frostmaiden had kept her word. “A thank-you gift from a follower of the clergy.”

A musical laughed, genuine in sound, was response to the to the thief’s reason for attachment. “Think of all the future adventures you could have with a new set…”

Attention turned to Caine, a man who peaked her interest in other ways. The man screamed of a chaotic nature that promised entertainment, a neutrality that might be persuaded, and a lucky streak that spoke opportunity. It was with quiet contemplation that the deceptive cleric wondered if she could somehow manipulate the man’s compulsion to gamble. While she held no affinity of games to test strength or match numbers, and no need to bet, the man’s fortune had proven true.

“Good morning, my intrepid friends! I trust you are all ready to depart?” Those words, or more pointedly the voice that spoke them, caused chill to slip across skin. This icy chill held no hint of Icedawn’s sway, but rather a macabre feeling that their employer tended to radiate. Slender body twisted on point to greet her benefactor, smile unwavering despite the inevitable discomfort. The reaction came unbidden and Nevae did best to ignore it. Like all good puzzle there was a certain interest that Zacchaeus raised in her.

Aletrayu was the first response. Pale eyes slide between the two. Her tongue remained stilled, awaiting his response. Nevae’s own belongings were packed, only tent needed to be taken apart. The cleric would be ready to leave at any moment, though wouldn’t turn down an opportunity for more food.

Caine was completely disinterested at everything around him. He did managed to snag a strip of meat from Veilyn as he was making it, but still he didn't offer any conversation. He was bored, he was becoming restless, and that much was clearly apparent. His foot constantly tapped, his gauntlet made a rythmic tappin on his leggings. He wondered when the hells would their employer would show up and tell them what in the hells they were to do. He also caught glances from Nevae, and couldn't help but wonder what the woman was thinking... Luckily, he didn't have to wait long as their great employer made his appearance. Caine made an attempt to seem interested in his words, but not all of them were worth his time. Caine merely spared the sparcest greeting- a grunt- and waited for the man to get to the point.

Creepy bastard though. Listening to Crow talk made the skin on Caine's ears twitch. The Fighter snorted when he called them a strapping lot, glad that Crow had saw his strength. Though relatively quiet, Caine enjoyed compliments like everyone else- though whether the comment was indeed a compliment, Caine was too thick-headed to really discern the difference. His profession didn't favor the intellectuals after all. However, something did manage to pique Caine's interest. They were to be traveling to Baldur's Gate. Home. He found himself wondering how his mother was doing. His father, had disappeared on an "adventure" some time ago. Of course this did nothing to persuade his son for an alternate career choice. Like father like son they say. Oh, and they were bodyguard a band of gypsies as well... Sounded like his usual work to be honest.

He turned his attention's to Beth-Dagon, taking her in with inquisitive eyes. She was to be their leader? He wondered if she could handle the job. But alas, it was none of his concern, he was there to accomplish whatever mission was laid in front of him, and to crack heads when needed. Oh, how he enjoyed cracking heads.

Upon her words, Caine left the group and retrieved his sorry bedroll, and tossed it to Caleb, All I need, love, is my sword and shield. Though if you wouldn't mind carrying that, I'd appreciate it. I'd rather not sleep on the ground like some elf," he said with glances at Syranni and Araina and grin. Whether it was a tease or an insult, it wasn't quite clear with a man as rough as Caine. Though, he didn't quite like the way Araina called his home a "Human city" and far less the way she talked about accidentally killing someone. "You can try," the fighter muttered under his breath- forgetting about the elves' increased natural hearing.

Then he was presented the scene of Vailyn- in his words- sucking up to the captain. He playfully punched the dark elf in the shoulder and joked, "Easy there ladykiller. It's just not seemly to fraternize with your captain," he said. Then Caine propped his elbow on the elf's shoulder-their size difference perfect for this action-, and leaned on his hand, teasing the elf himself.

"So Cap, when we be off?" Caine asked in his same disinterested tone.

"Oh, looks like we got ourselves a brand new fop... At least this one can carry a tune," Caine said upon the not-so-subtle arrival of their new bard. Lively and bright, just like one would expect a bard to be. Caine chuckled. At least they had entertainment for the road ahead. "Play me a diddy Johnny!" Caine called out, not hiding his amusement. It seemed though, if he was to get his request, then that request would have to be fulfilled on the road. Their captain began to move out, with them behind her. Caine made she that his sword and shield was secure and that his shortsword was within reach just in case things got nasty on the road. As one would expect with the title of a fighter, he was always wary of a fight. At the bidding of Nevae, Caine shrugged, "Let's," and they were off. Before long, they had entered the forest.

Off to the side, Caine heard something in the brush. His hand went to his sword, and awaited the beast to show itself... And the beast did. In all of it's dangly glory. "That's... One hell of a way to start the mission..." Caine said, quickly shifting his line-of-sight elsewhere, anywhere that didn't inevitably lead to the newly arrived Orc's... Package. Ugluk was a decent enough of a man himself-- if you could call an Orc a man. Loud, boisterous, and always wanting for a good battle. They were alike in many regard... Except this one. Caine didn't like to traipse around in the buff (not that he was ashamed of anything mind, just that... It got chilly). Now the sudden appearance of the orc (all of him) had caught Caine offguard. He stole a glance from Veilyn, who was handling it about as well as he was.

"So the hunt... Went, uh, well then?" Caine asked trying to do anything to get his mind off of the Orc's bit. Noticeably, Caine said this behind a curtain of fingers. Surely he wasn't the only one who found this a might bit awkward. Hah, the fighter, awkward, he didn't he'd ever see the day. Perhaps if Caine hadn't been trying to shield his eyes, he could see the pelt that Ugluk had returned with. Alas. He couldn't imagine what was going through Nevae's mind, and he almost pitied the poor girl... almost.

But like all good things, they must come to an end. Ugluk found his hide armor and Caine gave a prayer to Tymora. "Oh thank Tymora," he muttered, " he found his clothes,". This time, Veilyn was the one to venture a glance at Caine. His only answer was a subdued shrug and a shake of the head. Things were off to a smashing start... As it stood, it would take an entire tavern's worth of alcohol to cleanse the visage from his mind.

With the first of the day's ordeals managed, Caine continued forth.

-=Araina=-

Events unfolded at the camp once more. Some of the recruits left, whether because the task itself proved insurmountable to them or their employer filled them with distaste was left unknown. Yet just as swiftly as people exited the camp, more people seemed to file into it. Perhaps this was all a part of the Crow’s game? Placing pieces of the puzzle together in separate ways until he created a picture that he wanted? With the last of the members entering the clearing, in a rather prominent way, the elven druidess averted her eyes and turned to enter the woods.

And so the merry band made their way through the forest in the general direction of the Coast Way. Apprehension flooded the druidess’ lithe body. Despite her off the cuff and almost condescendingly aloof remarks about heading to a human city, the elf was actually affected by the thought of leaving nature. She had spent her entire life without entering the man made stone and steel creations that humans prided them selves on but now her path led her directly through the very things she despised.

If she were a more sociable creature she might try to befriend one of her traveling companions and tell them her fears to ease her mind, yet her innate hostility towards all other races prevented that from happening. There were no friends of nature in this ragtag band with the exception of the Ranger who had fled into the woods on her steed as soon as the party started moving. Whether she had decided that she was unable to deal with their newfound allies or if she was simply taking another path through the woods, Araina couldn’t be sure.

As they moved, the druidess hung back to take up the rear. In part, because she wanted to stay in her haven until the very last possible second and also, so she could observe the newest members- the bard, the sorcerer, the assassin, and the barbarian. Intriguing men, all of them, in their different ways but she stayed observant until her keen sense of hearing picked up the sound of voices in the distance and at the same time, the foliage broke way to open plains and a winding dirt road.

Within sight yet quite a fair walking distance north, her eyes could pick out a caravan moving slowly onwards. Their smaller group could easily gain on the gypsies if they were to pick up their pace.