Rynhart's Story

Rhea moved to push herself up to rest on her elbows as she looked in the direction of Whisper and Dallas. "I do believe we have company dear brother." she said as Rynhart's playing ceased and where the pleasant music had filled the air previously, only silence remained. Neither figured moved to rise though.

Whisper and Natalie*

It was Rhea who rose as her and Rynhart exchanged a silence glance and she made her way towards the group, her steps purposeful and heading for the priestess to inspect the woman's condition.

She didn't seem concerned by either Natalie or Whisper and she carried herself with confidence as she moved closer. Her steps though full of intent were unhuried. She would stop before the group her strange green eyes inspecting the unconscious woman.

While Rhea was asessing the woman's condition Rynhart moved to join the group as he also rose. "Taima is not here. It is uncertain when she will return." he said

Rynhart was lounging on a crumbled bit of wall, one leg dangling freely over the edge, the other on the wall itself as he played a few notes on his flute. Rhea seemed absent this day, for reasons uncertain.

Though he was as usual dressed in rather exotic and expensive looking finery, beneath his heavy coat one could see he had chosen to don his armor this day. His sword however had been unstrapped from his back and was on the ground down below, leaned against the wall. Broadswords were a bit clunky to sit with.

As the first few notes were played he settled into his song and rapidly fell into the piece as the tune filled the warm afternoon air. It was a complex and fast beat song, invigoratingly cheerful and it would almost seem to compel any who heard it to pause and listen.

Rynhart lowered the flute as Alair drew near and slipped it back into the folds of his coat as he swung down off the wall, pausing only to take up a pair of wooden training swords, very much resembling their actual weapons in size. The greatsword for Alair, and the broadsword for himself.

He didn't wait to see if Alair actually caught the weapon as he was already in motion with a powerful swing towards the younger half breed, fully intent to take advantage of Alair's calm state to throw him off guard and keep him on the defensive.

Rynhart pressed the attack against Alair, though his expression was one of approval as Alair met the jarring blow with confidence. The footing would be awkward, and he had the advantage there as long as he could keep Alair on the defensive. He could see in front of him, Alair would have a hard time seeing behind him to watch his footing.

Diverting Alair's blow to the side, opting to guide the swing rather than parry it outright, he drew his own weapon across in a horizontal slash, likewise with as much force as earlier trying to use his strength to keep Alair off balance.

The intent wasn't to land a hit so much as to cause Alair to lose his footing by keeping him moving back.

Rynhart was lounged against a bit of crumbled wall, his sword lain across the ground at his side as was his customary place. Though rather than his usual flute playing, this day he seemed to be wittling away at bit of wood that was starting to resemble a flute in itself. He paused to blow a bit of wood shavings off it and inspect it for a time as Alair approached.

"Greetings." he said before lifting the object and blowing a few test notes on it.

Rynhart seeming content with his work tossed the flute to Alair. "Something less strenuous perhaps?" he asked as he folded his arms behind his head and leaned back against the wall musing over Alair's predicament.

"I suppose your dragon blood isn't potent enough to mend it yourself?" he asked. Of course, not all dragons shared he and his sisters shapeshifting abilities either, nor their talent for using that same shapeshifting to repair the body.

Without waiting for an answer he gestured towards the flute, "Ever played?" he asked.

Rynhart retrieved his own flute from the folds of his thick coat and played a quick notes. "Only when I'm expecting someone to play with." he explained as he paused. He didn't enlighten Alair as to how he had been expecting Alair, or how he knew Alair wouldn't be in shape to fight. Sometimes it was good to keep the young half breed guessing.

He would inquire into the exact origins of the injury a bit later.

"I'll follow your lead." he said simply. A persons taste in music could tell a lot about them, and he was curious to hear Alair play. He might even take the chance to do something about the half breeds wing. Though one must take care not to coddle mortals, but Alair seemed to have carried his injury for a time now, and speeding the process up would not be too harmful to Alair's self-sufficiency.

Rynhart merely listened for a time, before joining in, quickly picking up the notes as he joined in. Rynhart's playing always had something of a mystical touch to it, and he easily picked up and matched Alair's notes.

As their playing went on, Alair would likely feel a steady ache within his wing, though slowly growing more pained. Rynhart could stimulate and encourage the body, much as he could peoples emotions, or even enhance an individuals spells. Bardic magic at its finest. However due to the act of the body merely accelerating its own healing, rather than magical mending, it was a rather painful process.

Alair himself would likely be unaware of exactly what was happening, save for the fact that his wing was acting up.

Alair's pain would lessen as their playing wore on, Rynhart's notes gradually becoming nothing more than playing. Inspiring, emotional and moving, but ordinary for all intents and purposes. The wing wasn't fully healed, but the healing process had been greatly accelerated, at least a week off from his recovery time. It wouldn't do for Alair to know what Rynhart had done, and come to expect or rely on such things.

Rynhart inclined his head, "Not bad." he said as he lowered his own flute. "How have your exercises been progressing?" he inquired. Rhea was certain the half breed had magic about him, but as of yet, they were still waiting for some sign of its manifestation.

Rynhart took every opportunity to try and coax it out of him during their sparring sessions, but with no results just yet.

As Susan made her way deeper into the forest, the pleasant melody of a flute began to reach her ears from somewhere in the distance. The tune was catchy and the notes would give one pause to simply stand and listen. Though seemingly ordinary enough, the subtle weight of the magic imbued within the notes was one which would lure a listener to their source, all while leaving the listener to the assumption that the decision was their own.

The source of the music was a man seated atop an old tree stump deep within the forest. He looked elven in nature, and was clothed in finery unbecoming of traveling these dense woodlands. At his side on the forest floor rested a great sword, sheathed in an ornate scabbard with gems embedded into its surface.

The man seemed enraptured in his tune, his eyes closed as he played on, letting the melody fill the forest. It wasn't until the piece has concluded that he lowered the flute and gave Susan a look. For all the peculiarity of his presence, and the out of place nature of his finery, the man seemed to belong right where he was, sitting atop that tree stump.

He inclined his head in a nod of greeting. "Good evening," he offered. "I trust my playing did not trouble you?" he asked.

"And what brings you to my wood today?" he asked.

It was an odd question, given that had Susan passed this way before, no sign of the man had been present on previous forays. A survey of the area showed little sign of habitation at all, save for the forest animals that dwelt in the forest.

"That is all?" he asked. "You seem troubled. Not many pass this way who don't have a destination, even if they don't yet realize it."

Rynhart gave the girl a curious look before slipping his flute into the sleeve of his overcoat. "This is a dangerous place to be traveling. I hear rumor that young girl got attacked here just last week. No more than a child really. They say a feral beast makes its home in these parts."

Rynhart raised his brow at that claim. For being able to take care of herself, Susan was exceptionally jumpy. One doesn't get to be that skittish if they can take care of themselves. He shook his head and stood from the stump of his tree, retrieving the great sword from its place on the ground.

"Come, you don't want to be out here when the sun sets. It's a full moon tonight, you know."

He turned then to head deeper into the forest, seemingly indifferent to whether she followed or not.

Loyahl was nearing his fifth week of tracking whatever 'beast' was rumored to lay in the woods, and as each day passed, he grew more and more skeptical of what it actually was. He wasn't a fool when it came to tracking, he set up an area to return to to resupply every week or so that passed, a gypsy camp that lay north of Wing City and rest in the more sparse area of the woodland area.

His visits became less frequent, however, and he had recently ended up staying out much longer than he originally intended. Not that he felt welcome in the camp, anyway. It was discerning, and there was an eerie stillness whenever he entered it, hushed whispers being thrown about around him.

He had been becoming more skeptical because whatever it was he was tracking was entire aware of it, although not at first. It was relatively easy to pick up on, but as the time stretched on whatever it was became more careful. Covered its tracks and left Loyahl with a dead end. There was only one direction for it to head in, however, and Loyahl ended up heading farther North than was safe for him.

The greater the distance between him and the gypsy meant more time wasted between trips, and more time wasted meant a much greater lack of supplies each time. Just like at that very moment, as the winds weren't as particularly harsh as they usually were, and he relentlessly trekked up a mountain peak that he wasn't even sure housed this 'creature' he was following.

And it was harsh on him, leaving him tired, minimal on supplies, and utterly frustrated.

As Loyahl made his way deeper into the icy peaks, the way only grew more treacherous. Rocks slick with ice and snow left each step as dangerous as his last. It would be hours though before he caught ear of the distant sound of a flute carried in on the crisp evening air.

The source of music was that of Rynhart who was lounging on a crumbled bit of rock, one leg dangling freely over the edge. The man would seem a peculiar sight this far from civilization. He looked elven in nature, but was clothed in exotic and expensive looking finery unbecoming of traveling this icy landscape. Resting upon the ground near the rock was a great sword, sheathed in an ornate scabbard with gems embedded into its surface.

The tune he played on this day was a somber one, carrying a weight of remembrance in its notes. It would almost seem to compel any who heard it to give pause and listen, to seek out its source.

And hours it was, the sun slowing beginning to slip below the horizon as the faint notes found their way to him. Needless to say, it threw him off, hearing any sort of sound besides the whip of the wind this far out from any human contact. And of course, its source was what was more of a red flag to him, considering the only logical conclusion he could think of was that it was whatever he was chasing. What were the odds that it were just some random person out in this harsh weather, playing an instrument? That would be ridiculous.

And they it seemed to take several moments for Loyahl to perk up at the sound, notch an arrow, and try to muffle the crunch of his footsteps against the snow as he became to move again, it really happened in a mere instant. His reflexes were conditioned enough, and he now moved at a drastically slower pace, the arrow notched but not yet drawn back, aimed downward and in front of him for now.

He tried not to focus too much on the weight the music carried as he followed it, the tune coming across as rather depressing to him. And although it was beautiful, it was too much of a distraction to get caught up in, and he'd be damned if he died because he feel victim to some siren song.

It had only been around twenty minutes by the time he came up on the man, and he froze. He wasn't sure if the man was yet aware of his presence, and he wasn't about to give away his position just yet. Instead, he drew the bow back slightly, raising it to aim at the man as he crouched and side stepped out from his concealment.

He then stood, making small strides towards the man and looking at him down the arrow. This had to be the rumored beast. Anything else would be, again, ridiculous. He remained silent at first, standing there and staring at the man with the arrow drawn before hesitating, raising a brow at his playing, and then lowering it to the ground once again.

"Who are you?" Way to let your guard down, Loyahl. It might be the death of you.

The tune ended abruptly mid note as Rynhart lowered his flute to give Loyahl a curious look.

"I am Rynhart," he replied. Though elven in appearance, his accent held a hint of something more exotic, something foreign. "But it would seem that I'm the one that should be asking you that. Though then again not many pass through this way without a specific destination, even if they don't yet realize it."

He raised his flute up again and played a few experimental notes on it before pausing and glancing overhead. "The sun will be down soon, you don't want to be out here after sunset. It's a full moon tonight you know."

He wasn't sure it that was a threat, or a friendly warning, but it didn't make me raise or lower his guard any more than it already was.

"It's not so much a destination as it is a target, or a goal. Maybe even a prize, but I suppose some would argue that they're all the same thing." He didn't sound as pompous as he looked, and instead had a rather calm tone when talking. At the point, he was more amused than alert, and the arrow found its way back into his quiver while the the bow was lowered to his side.

"Does the full moon hold any significance?"

"To some," Rynhart replied. "Come, there's food and shelter not far. No need to spend the night out in the cold."

Swinging down off his rock, Rynhart picked up his sheathed sword and began to make his way up the mountain path.

Loyahl hesitated, but the prospect of food AND shelter tempted him too much, considering how many days he had spent in the cold weather, barely finding any animal up there large enough to give him the required nourishment. He silently followed the man up the path, his free hand twitching slightly as he readied himself for the need to notch another arrow.

The trek wasn't far, but progress was slow as Rynhart led them up a precarious incline. One might have thought the way impassable, but Rynhart seemed to know the twists and turns to get them through the worst of the route. Their destination was a temple, its entrance concealed upon a small rocky plateau that overlooked the icy peaks below.

Roughly hewn from the earth of the mountain-side itself, the temple entrance was little more than two rugged pillars of stone standing sentinel at either side of a small cave opening, just large enough for two people abreast to fit through without stooping. Runic wards had been placed over the entryway, though the language was not one which Loyahl could decipher.

A fire pit was situated just outside the temple entrance, shielded from the elements by the overhanging rocks of the mountain face. The coals had long since burned out, and a heavy covering of snow hinted at its disuse.

"Go on in," Rynhart offered. "I'm going to get a fire going out here." Though why he chose to light the fire this evening when it was so evidently unused on nights past was difficult to say.