(Post written by Wraith, quizzicallyquixotic, Tiko, and Script)

Ira had not been the only one to notice that beacon of light across the desert night. The convoy of humans, small though it was, was closing the distance between themselves and the renegades during the course of that interaction. There had even been some measure of effort taken to ensure that their approach was not merely a frontal confrontation.
Remaining in the shadows just beyond that ring of light, Delilah sat side saddle on the mare that danced under her, silent save for the soft nicker that escaped when the clash of that brawl began. Flanking her on either side, Jerod and another proficient officer sat at the ready with their swords drawn. Further afield, and closing in on foot from either side of the cave entrance, pairs of soldiers crept in, hopeful for the benifit that surprise might offer when the occupants came forth to impending summons. The remaining three of that band- one having already begun his solitary trek back to th mine camp, were engage in seeking some climbable trail that might lead to high ground, above the cave exit. A last line of defense or offense, if needed; even if every indication had been given that they were to expect a small group on the run.
"Well well well..." The purr came from the gloom somewhere beyond the fire light. "I like nothing so much as a good cock fight, myself.." Delilah's voice was all sugar and cream. "But I can't imagine that even your kind..should find it worth your while to lose your wings for one so useless to either of our worlds as a condemned slave." A press of her knee to the ribs of her mount, and Delilah was emerging into view of the grappling pair. "Hand the slave over, peacably, and I might be inclined to forget this little ..treachery, on the part of your..." her lips curled, "people..." A complete fabrication, of course. Delilah had every intention of making the arrogant miscreants pay for the defiance of even one of their kind for her cause.
Klo was only distracted in picking the too cooked flesh off the bones of the rabbit. The violet pools of her gaze lifted, searching the darkness to find the source of that nicker. It was all she could do not to shriek. The rabbit fell to the cavern floor, and she shifted to a crouch near the flames. That woman.. Klo's head tilted, lips parting slightly to allow her breath to escape between the sharpened fangs. A human.. and one who meant to drag her back to that place. The fey might happily have her throat for that. The violet pools of her gaze shifted to the shadows within the cavern, as though seeking some way out. None but that entrance, and even with the roast so near her nose, she could smell that human stink all over. It was when that last word had escaped the human female's lips that Klo erupted into a furious shriek.
No human or many other creatures were capable of producing a sound like that. The fey's fingers curled into the fire pit, dragging free a hot stick from its prison to go flinging it, ash and all at that mare Delilah rode. She would take death over a return to those mines, and the fey, who was not much of one for words to begin with, burst into action in attempting to overtake the woman.
Klo's shriek drew Adriaan's attention away from Ira, still caught mid grapple over the glaive. A moments assessment was all it took as he looked back to Ira, his expression saying it all. Whatever he saw upon Ira's face was confirmation enough for him and he released the weapon and swept after Klo. “Stay in the cave!” Adriaan hollered after her. Out in the open they would be swiftly surrounded, but the girl seemed well beyond the capacity for rationality.
Ira's eyes narrowed in response to the arrival of Delilah, and it didn't take him more than a few seconds to realise that the humans wouldn't care whether or not he was with their prisoner or against her at this point. Turning away from Adriaan to walk toward the cave entrance, the young Lord met Delilah's gaze with a raised eyebrow. "Your people are not known for their honour," he noted dryly, "I'll take my chances with your swords over your words."
Jerod didn't know what had made the sound, all he knew was that there was something nightmarish erupting from the entrance of the cave and that the mare under Delilah was rearing up onto her back legs with a whinnying scream of its own, as fire and death seemed to approach. Without thought the captain was charging to enact his role as guardian, and a kick to his stallion's ribs had the horse charging into the gap between the woman and the slave. "Get back! M'Lady!" His shout echoed that of Adriaan, and sword drawn he was bearing down on what the light revealed to be little more than a golden girl.
Delilah was fighting her horse, pulling hard on its bit as she attempted to twist the mare to the ground again. The riding spurs in her boot heels bit into the animal's sleek hide, into scarred spots where the cruel instruments were used to striking. The woman only cared for the comfort of her mount, when it was co-operative. Fury burned in her eyes. "What are you waiting for, fools..Get them! Get them all!" Even if she wouldn't be the one charging into the fray.
How swift could the creature be without her flight? She had taken down a few guards on her own in that weakened state, and now with a few days rest and fed, she was closer to that strength she had once possessed. The guard's interference earned him a hiss of a feral creature, and like a child denied a toy, Klo threw a tantrum.
That tantrum involved her swiftly ducking around the feet of the mount, almost nightmarish in her own right for the speed at which inhuman legs could move. In the matter of a few well timed hops and grappling she had twisted herself onto the horse's back, and blunted though the dagger was, when she brought it down into the horse's flesh it pierced true. What damage the blade itself could not do, the poison coating it handled well enough, sending the horse bucking into a frenzy as the toxin worked its way through its body.
Jerod might have been next, had it not been for the horse throwing her roughly back to the ground. The unfortunate horse was not much more than a convulsing pile of flesh soon enough. Bruised and bloodied from scrapes and perhaps a stray sword swing, the fey was leaping to her feet again, unaware of the threat posed by the armed guard above until an arrow had come flying to blossom from the back of her shoulder like some macabre flower. In that state, the pain that might otherwise have stolen her breathe was pushed aside for the red mists of bloodlust. When that second rider came charging to the aid of his fellow, the sword he kept outstretched did little to save him. Before he'd the chance to dismount or swing, the fey was clambering upon him in a twist of white limbs and hissing fury, and he suffered more than one bite to his arm and neck before she dropped to the ground; pulling him along with her.

(Post written by Tiko, and Script)

Scarcely a wing beat behind Klo, Adriaan cleared the cave entrance, but was swiftly cut off as two men descended upon him, swords slashing viciously. The resounding clang of metal against metal split the air as Adriaan caught a blade against his gauntlet. Twisting about to contend with his own attackers, he could only hope Klo could handle herself.

As the fey girl charged, Ira watched her departure from the cave with a raised eyebrow - so much for the defenseless refugee he'd expected. He didn't have time to think on her ferocity for long, however, as the sound of footsteps came from his left. Turning sharply, he brought his glaive up to catch the falling sword of a soldier who had approached from the side of the cave. The metals clashed with a burst of force that knocked the man's sword arm up and away, leaving him reeling for balance. It was a balance he'd never regain, as Ira's glaive sliced brutally across his throat, dropping him like a ragdoll. A second man was given pause, staring with horror at his quickly dispatched companion, and Ira lifted his weapon to take him out similarly.

Meanwhile Adriaan was summarily handling his own attackers. Ducking the sweep of a sword, Adriaan twisted around behind the soldier, dropping him with a swift kick to the back of his knee. Fluidly disarming him, Adriaan tossed the sword up, catching it in reverse as it fell back down. Sweeping forward, Adriaan slammed the hilt of the sword into the nose of a second soldier, discarding it a moment later.

It was then that the arrow flew from overhead to hit Klo in the shoulder. Ira spared the girl hardly a thought for her safety, but recognised the threat of the archers' advantageous position. He knocked the man near him back with a pulse of force as he set eyes on them overhead, and with a sweeping beat of his wings lifted off, soaring into the air to soar around towards them. He closed on the first man who had fired the shot at Klo before he had a chance to reload, but the second was already taking aim. "Eyes this way, monk!" he yelled as the man prepared to fire.

The shout drew Adriaan's eyes skyward to spot the glint of a crossbow leveled at him. As the mechanism was released, Adriaan contorted his body to the side while leaning back. Deft movements left the arrow grasped within his gauntlet, scarcely a finger breadth from his shoulder.

In the same moment Adriaan was catching the arrow of the soldier, Ira was upon his companion, foot catching him in the face before he had his sword free of its scabbard. The man staggered backwards and landed hard on the rocky ground, finding Ira's glaive thrust through his chest before he could stand. The other archer had his sword drawn as Ira turned, slashing viciously towards his upper body. Ira caught the strike on the haft of his glaive, lifting a leg to kick the man in the stomach before he could recover from the parrying. The blow winded him, sending him staggering backwards before a single pulse of force from Ira toppled him over the edge of the ridge to fall the significant distance to the ground below. In chainmail armour, that was going to leave a mark.

Nodding his appreciation to Ira, Adriaan was caught off guard in his moment of distraction as the remaining soldier moved in, landing a raking slash down Adriaan's arm. Reflexively grasping the wound, Adriaan twisted away to re-stance off. To his side, the wounded soldiers were dragging themselves back to their feet. A swift roundhouse kick dropped one back to the ground, and with a sidestep, he evaded a bull-rushed tackle from the second. The soldier's momentum subsequently plowed him into remaining soldier at Adriaan's back. Stepping in, Adriaan pinned a sword to the ground under his foot. Raising his brow, he simply watched the two unarmed men scrambling back before they turned tail and fled into the desert.

(Post written by quizzicallyquixoticand Wraith)

Klo's left nothing in her wake but corpses and dust. A horse, a dead soldier, and his mount charging off into the night. And where Jerod had escaped her venom before, he was not so fortunate then. Sword skill could do only so much when faced with the savage, feral thing that she could be. For each swing, she was dancing out of the way, whipping about hither and thither in a flow of blue silk and golden curls. Jerod was too well trained for the same, inevitable missteps that had been the end of those like him, and so the fey took matters into her own hands.

When that next swing came, she stepped into him, rather than off to the safety of the side, suffering both a new slice and the brutal bash of gauntlet against her form. In that rage, she was undeterred, and used only his own momentum to catch hold of him wherever her hands might manage the grasp. With that, the creature swung up and onto his back, sandaled feet anchoring her painfully into his ribs or whatever armor he wore that would not protect him. For all that earlier sentiment, he was not even granted the mercy of a swift death, and she tore into his cheek and deeper into his throat before he'd even had the chance to throw her off. She rolled, growling with the first painful contact of her injured shoulder against the ground, before she managed to fling herself back to her feet. By the time she righted herself, the guard had already fallen, and she touched her tongue to blood stained lips before near pitch black gaze had turned on the battle that had erupted around her. None of the sounds that escaped from her were anything something with normal vocal chords should be able to make, and yet she was all but screeching her frustrations, pacing and turning her eyes to the distance in search of that woman who had brought this mess to them in the first place. Her throat belonged to Klo.

Delilah was not unused to conflict... combat, blood and death. She was not, however, used to being on the losing end of that equation. It had taken but moments to rein in the fight of her mount after she had given her command, but it seemed that moments had been all that the winged mutants needed. Lips curled back from pearl white teeth that might not have gone misplaced with fangs, for the feral rage that was bared there and in the flashy ice of her moon washed irises in the fire lit shadows. They were falling around her like flies..or fleeing like the useless coward bastards that they were.

Delilah had never stayed to fight her own battles, once in her life. Her particular pleasure came from the fluttering of the helpless in the grip of her tyranny. When her targets showed resistance, there was not nearly the satisfaction involved. It didn’t take long to figure what the outcome would be. The death throes of Jerod’s horse only presaged what might be her own- and that mount was her only assurance of any hope of flight. There would be nothing so distasteful as falling into the hands of those she had set out to capture.

“Yaw!!..” Her cry lifted above the sounds of battle, as she bit spurs into the side of her horse again, and turned the mare’s nose toward the open desert. She had -some- sense of direction... and enough awareness to know that she was still days of riding away from guarded territory. Somewhere in her mind she sought only to find cover, there would be rocks and crags, ravines, somewhere if she could only ride fast and far enough.

The idea might have had merit, if her potential persuers had not had... well, wings.

Klo's vision was perhaps at its most useful at night, and whatever distance the human had managed to gain, she would not go unmissed. She paced forward and back like predator on that ridge, throwing her hands violently through the air, and making all manner of animal noises. The jarring pain from each movement of her shoulder that was only starting to grow as the heat of battle tempered, and the more she paced and breathed shuddering breaths, the more aware she was of the thing- as if that was all that was keeping her from chasing after the mount. It was why the shaft was ripped free and hurled to the ground, despite the excess damage to muscle and nerves it caused on the way out. She wasn't of a mind to care, yet.

She couldn't chase the human down. That was what mattered, and that might have been the reason violet eyes were searching furiously for the avorian who had played her guard up to this point. Not that she managed any more communication than another, unearthly shriek of a call that ripped through the air above the battle.

(Post written by Script, Tiko, and quizzicallyquixotic)

"Well," Ira remarked as he descended from the ridge, "That could have gone better for them. A shame they'll probably declare war on us now. Always inconvenient." He sighed, absent-mindedly wiping his glaive off on the trouser-leg of one of the dead men. "Poor men were probably just doing their jobs. I doubt they expected that result. I feel more sorry for the horses though."
Adriaan stooped down to roll an unconscious soldier over onto his back. “Eh, this one will live,” Adriaan remarked as he stood up and surveyed the battle zone. “I don't think we have to worry about war. If they could wage war on us, they would have done so long before now. No, the only ones at any real danger of reprisal are us.”
Klo might have minded being ignored far less if she hadn't just made a demand. Spoiled thing that she was, the creature was all but stomping toward her Avorian ward, right into the midst of his conversation. She seemed to trip and stumble into a heap right atop that guard who would have made it. Her mouth had already parted to tear into the man's throat.
Adriaan stooped quickly, hooking an arm around Klo's waist. “Whoa there,” he grunted as he hoisted her back and away from the fallen guard.
What he hoisted back, and away was much less the reasonable girl that befitted the dress she wore, but a growling, hissing tangle of flailing limbs and gnashing teeth. He had his work cut out for himself, restraining her, but then.. all at once, she went slack.
Fine. She could try another way of having those demands met. "Human noble.. ships.. Maradar." That was reasonable, right? Or it might have come off sounding considerably more so, if she did not suddenly lash out in another effort to free herself from his hold. Adriaan was fortunate to be wearing those gauntlets, after all.
"Perhaps not," Ira mused, "But I can't imagine the Queen will be pleased if the humans start waving their sticks around angrily at her. As for personal reprisal, my offer does still stand. Valory's justice would be a lot less... permanent, I imagine." He looked down at Klo, raising an eyebrow, "But I've no care for forcing you to any more. Any hopes for avoiding a diplomatic incident were just dashed thoroughly. I can't say I know what you see in this one though. I'm surprised you haven't lost a finger yet."
Adriaan wouldn't have lost a finger for lack of trying on Klo's part, it seemed, though amidst that fighting she managed to toss a flat look in Ira's direction.
“If you saw what they did to her, you would understand,” Adriaan remarked. “I don't suppose you could get that one out of here?” he asked with a nod of his head towards the unconscious man.
Ira leaned on his glaive, "The easy way, or the hard way?" he asked, "I suppose you're going to ask me to use the hard way. Well, fair enough. I'd feel bad putting him down at this point." Making his way over to the fallen man, Ira gripped the back of his armour, casting his eyes around to spot another cave area to use before dragging him off into the night.
Gingerly easing Klo back down to the ground, Adriaan released her warily.
Klo shoved Adriaan. Or tried. She managed to land her hands on him before that twinge of a throb at her shoulder turned into a rocketing pain that ran through her arm for the motion. The sound that escaped sounded more like a scoff than anything else, though.
Adriaan held his hands up defensively as Klo turned her anger on him. “I understand you're upset, but he wasn't a threat anymore.” Lowering his arms, the tension started to ease out of him. “Now come on, we should get those injuries looked at, alright?” he asked. He was still wary of the volatile fey creature, all the more so after witnessing what she was capable of.
Her eyes flashed dangerously, and it was only after a long moment of her staring holes into him that the fey lowered her hands. "The one who ran.." Because she was so much more important than the creature right now, for what she could offer. "No time.. for this." Though the wound she had suffered and the pain she was growing increasingly more aware of might have had something to do with the shorter temper and attention, as well as the hoarse hiss of words she managed to let pass bloodied lips.
Adriaan shook his head. “There's plenty of time. If you think she can help us get to Maradar, we'll pick up her trail in the morning. There's nothing but sand out that way, she won't get far. Besides, if we go traipsing through the desert with open wounds and no rest, we aren't going to be in any shape to catch up to her. Now are you going to sit down and let me have a look at those injuries or not?” Folding his arms over his chest, Adriaan looked about as stubborn as her for a change of pace.
Klo evidentially wasn't used to not being listened to. The violet of her eyes remained settled on him, steady. She couldn't match his posture, for her injury, but the way she straightened to that full, unimpressive, and wrong height, was enough. She did not even give him an answer. Only stared hard, and kept her features set as unreadable as stone.
"You two look like you're getting along swimmingly," Ira commented as he strolled back into the glow of the cave's fire. "It's a wonder you made it this far, really. But as much as I'd love to stick around and see how things escalate from here, I suppose I ought to consider heading home to face the music." He sighed resignedly, "I'm sure my fair aunt will be delighted with the news that I had to kill a sortie of the people we were trying to please. The bright side is that it's probably only marginally worse an outcome than she expected."
Adriaan cracked a grin at Ira. “You have no idea,” he remarked with amusement. “Anyways, it's too dark to travel far tonight, why don't you stay with us until morning?” Glancing over at Klo, Adriaan rubbed at his jaw thoughtfully. “Well, I can't make you let me look at those wounds, but I for one am going inside and getting something to eat. If you change your mind, let me know, eh?”
Ira was briefly under the heat of her stare. Briefly. An instant later she was scowling after Adriaan, and stamping her foot. Useless. Clearly, everything he had done for her thus far could be forgotten in the wake of being denied a chase.
"Plenty to eat out here.." She threatened, huskily, and motioned to the bodies with her good arm. True or not, she was evidentally refusing the temptation of a meal... For now.
Ira gave Klo a sidelong glance, "I'll sleep easy knowing I'm in such ... respectable company." he murmured, shaking his head. "But you're right. As much as flying into something would give me a convenient excuse not to go back, it might impede my living in other ways. Such as the part that involves 'living'."
Making his way back to the fire, Adriaan was met with the unfortunate discovery that there appeared to be nothing left of the rabbit but bits of bone. Picking up one he glanced at it and discarded it to the side with a sigh. This woman was going to be the end of him. “Well, so much for that. I don't suppose you have any food on you, eh?” he asked Ira with a sidelong glance and an arch of his brow.
Klo, meanwhile, sat cross-legged outside the entrance of the cave, right next to Jerod's body. She wasn't hungry enough to eat him, really, nor did she particularly favor the taste of human. But.. She stared at the corpse for a long, long moment, and finally pushed to her feet. Fine.
"Thing." Adriaan had lost his name. "Fix." Not that she was making her way in to meet him for said fixing.
"I've not got much," Ira said as he walked into the cave, "Since I was hoping to be back within the day. But I have something to tide us over till morning." He pulled a package of jerky from his back and tossed a piece over to Adriaan, "If you were expecting some sort of royal travelling delicacy, you're talking to the wrong royal. I've some dried fruit here also, to liven things up. Positively a feast."

(Post written by Script and Tiko)

Adriaan was seated near the cave entrance, tossing bits of dried kindling into the campfire. The flames had died down to a dull flicker, but the meager supply of fuel that had been scavenged from the nearby thickets was running short. The fire would soon be out, but dawn was only a few hours away. Rubbing his hands together against the chill night air, he cast a glance Klo's way, but fortunately she slumbered yet. Getting her wounds dressed had been a feat unto itself, and Adriaan had come out of it with more scrapes and bruises than he had gone in with. His own injury, a shallow gash down his arm, had been bound in strips of cloth. The tourniquet was rudimentary at best, but it would have to suffice until they reached more civilized regions.

Leaning against the cave wall a short distance inside, Ira had dozed only lightly since the battle. He didn't want the bleariness of recovering from heavy sleep if more soldiers came. He glanced over at Adriaan, leaning forwards. "So tell me," he began, "How is it you and her came to travel together? How did she become your charge, as it were?"

“Hm?” Adriaan asked as he glanced to Ira. “Oh, just chance really. If you saw what they do to people out there, you would understand,” Adriaan remarked. Folding his arms behind his head, he lay back on the rough ground. “There's an old saying, something about bad deeds going ignored. I don't really remember, but eh, if I left her there, I may as well be as barbaric as the northerner's.” Adriaan quirked a grin. “And what can I say, I'm a sucker for a woman in distress.”

Ira laughed, shaking his head. "I had a feeling this was a little more personal than 'the right thing to do'. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure any good man or woman in your position would have acted to help her, but you might want to be careful just how far you take that." He glanced at the sleeping fey girl, "She's far from your ordinary damsel in distress. Think more along the lines of a caged crag wolf. It wants to run, but if it's backed into a corner, throats will fly - and indiscriminately at that. Make sure you don't become collateral damage, or get yourself killed for her." He leaned back again, shrugging his shoulders, "I certainly can't see chasing after her ending well for you. I can only imagine what she considers 'romance', and it involves more violence than is healthy in my mind."

Adriaan scowled and waved a hand towards the cave entrance. “They made her the way she is. What would you suggest,” Adriaan asked with quirk of his brow. “Just turn her out into the desert to die for it?” Adriaan chuckled lowly and shook his head. “Besides, what other options are there? Back to Volary? There was a time when our people were more than a bunch of fops sitting high in their spires and letting the world pass them by. Far as I see it, the crimes of the northerner's are as much our own now, and it's about time people remember that. Looking the other way while this,” he paused with a wave of his hand towards Klo, “is going on at our doorstep?” Adriaan shook his head. “I would just as soon rather die with a clean conscience than go back there. Not that I intend to die at all,” he added with a wink.

Smiling faintly, Ira shook his head, "I wasn't suggesting you abandon the girl, merely that you keep your head about you. Don't let her appearance distract you from her nature, or push you into doing anything stupid. Men are doomed to no greater acts of foolhardiness than the ones driven by the desire to impress an object of their affection." Sighing, he gazed up at the roof of the cave, "I agree with you on the state of our people, though. Perhaps the coteries are less caught up in their courtrooms and politics to see what the world around them is coming to. Unscalable walls and veritable immunity to outside influence can create something of a ... distanced attitude toward what goes on beyond the city."

“We were headed that way, to the coteries out west, but the girl seems insistent on getting to a place called 'Maradar'. I figure I can see her that far, if I can sort out where it is. She seemed to think that woman from earlier could help. She can't have gotten far, it should be simple enough to fly her down come morning.” Yawning lightly, Adriaan glanced over to Ira. “You could come with us you know.”

Ira glanced down again, raising an eyebrow, "Join the outlaw and the fugitive as they forge recklessly deep into the heart of their enemies' territory?" he asked, chuckling.

“Why not?” Adriaan asked before quirking another grin. “You can't possibly tell me that life at Volary is more interesting than anything we're doing out here. And you for one didn't seem too thrilled to be heading back.

"As much as life in Volary is far from ideal, I can take heart in the fact that as much as I might be disliked, the Queen is yet to try to kill me. Going to Maradar as it stands seems to me nothing more than a suicide mission." Ira shook his head, "Do you have any idea what she hopes to accomplish?"

Adriaan's grin widened. “Not one bit. But suit yourself. I'm going to be heading out to look for that woman in an hour. If you change your mind, you know where to find me. For now I'm going to get some more sleep.”

Ira smirked, "Good luck," he murmured amusedly, shaking his head at the man's hopeless optimism.

as written by Kordera

The summer breeze blew through the plains and fields of Lohar with a good comfortable clip. Plants and trees swayed in the wind as workers tended the fields. Houses and barns and burrows littered the landscape with few clustered together in small complexes near a central market area.

A man of tall stature and venerable age with his face covered, as always, walks through the market picking vegetables and asking short questions to the local folk. Farmers and their families load and refresh their stock as the town square gets busier. Taking a step back and taking in the peaceful scene Drak smiles beneath his mask realizing how hard it was fought for and how much loss went into this gain.

Though a seemingly peaceful marketplace, the reaches of a past life could still be seen by those with an eye for such things. The rugged figure of a man smoking a pipe at the market corner, or the old fishmonger whose customers always seemed to come by in the dwindling hours of twilight. The Obsidian Ridge's reach was far, even this far south from the hustle and bustle of Tiria’s capital. On this day it was a young boy, scarcely more than seven years old that made his presence known to Drak. Shoving his way through the crowd, the lad forcefully bumped against Drak's arm, slipping a folded bit of parchment into his weathered hand. The seal upon it remained unbroken, but the parchment was stained and smudged with dirt; it had come a long ways to reach him.

Seeing the figure had taken his time in finding him, and then had made several blatant error to deliver the document, he quickly made his way out of town with his purchases. Instead of heading to his home he went to a small alcove in the hills. Entering a small dugout in the rock face nearing the woods, he took out a candle and it it. He trekked a while into the cave and lit a hooded lantern and sat in a small wooden chair he had left for himself. Perusing his knives and uniforms from a life seeming long past, he carefully opened the seal to the letter.

‘Blackadder. We regret to inform you that Gilnaes of Troubthorn has fallen. Circumstances unknown. You are most likely in peril. Arm and report.’

The letter was signed with a black dot and a gold scrawl in the shape of a nightingale. He closed the letter and sighed . He put his purchased food into a pack and then began to dress in the style which was more common to him than the dress of a farmer. Taking care to tuck each fold and a blade into each one of them, he then took his curved blades and strapped them to his back and took his pack from the floor. He loaded his kunai and his katars into his sleeves and then headed for the entrance with the hooded lantern in hand.

‘To what do I owe the honor?’ he asked.

A shrouded figure emerged from the shadows and looked at him past his own mask. The figure stood much shorter than him and was dressed accordingly. His robes were much darker than Drak’s showing his inexperience. The lighter the robe the better the assassin. Drak’s robes in comparison were pristine bright red with obsidian inlaid markings on the epaulets and wrists. The man’s robes were dark grey with no inlaid markings. Higher level field assassins were in white, showing their prowess in combat. Red was reserved for those in the higher part of the order and for trainers of assassins. The blood cloak, as it was called was always the highest honor one could receive in the Obsidian Ridge.

“You have been summoned Drakara Morvon Blackadder. But you were not permitted weapons,” said the man.

“A novice like you is willing to dictate than at old man should travel unarmed with all of the rumors of monsters and beasts?” Drak retorted.

“I am not to dictate to you what you do. But the Grand One is. Retired ones are not allowed to carry the katars and kunai of the order. You must remove them or I must remove you.”

“Remove me?” Drak snorted.

Drak made a quick gesture and then grabbed his lower back and groaned in pain for a moment. He began walking off as the man slumped to the floor in a bloody mess. The man’s throat was slashed in two places with clinical precision. Drak crouched down to the man and looked at him.

“You come to me with a recall order. Slip it into my possession and then tell me to come unarmed. Then this little thing. You are an un-donned novice with a sharp tongue. You are here to silence me as is our way. Your mistake was not killing me in the market. Sleep well with your knowledge.”

With that he slipped away tucking his kunai back into his sleeve. He needed to find his old companions soon, for now he was truly alone in the world with no support or communications. He started south with a decent pace heading to the ruined wastes known as the barrens. The only way he would be able to figure out what was going on was to get into the barrens to ask an old friend what was beginning to unfold.

as written by Tiko and Kordera

The hour was late, and the moon high as it cast its silvery glow over the barren landscape. The embers of Drak’s campfire had burned low, but they still cast their flickering glow over the vicinity, and it was from those dancing shadows that Maria stepped. She loomed ominously at the fridges of the dim light, her eyes glinting with an amber wolfish hue. Melding out of the darkness, her arrival was swift and silent, but no effort was made to conceal her presence. This man who pursued her wanted to be found, and so she had come to him, lured by the light of his campfire, and the acrid reek of tobacco.

“Took you long enough,” Drak said calmly. “Found a deer on the way here. I hope you do not mind venison stew.”

He stepped from some rocks with a pot and ladle and put it on the fire to warm. His hands still slightly bloodied from carving up the kill. He looked at her with his face still masked like always. His grey eyebrows and blue eyes the only visible thing on his face.

“Drak,” Maria replied. Her voice was almost a low growl, her words thick with her northern accent.

Maria cast the pot a glance, knowing well how rare such a meal was to come by south of the Koramyr river. Drak was spared a hard look as she assessed his presence before she finally approached. Wild locks of unkempt hair framed her steely gaze, and there was something almost feral to the way she moved, the way she looked at him. Clothed in the remnants of tattered hides and animal pelts, it was evident that she hadn't frequented civilization in a very long time; though she had always had a wild streak to her even in the days of old.

“The years catch up quickly, don't they,” she remarked.

“They had caught up with me twenty years ago. It just advances worse with time,” he said with a hushed tone. “How are you these days?”

Maria shook her head at his inquiry. “Twenty years and now you seek me out to ask how I have been?” she asked with a touch of reproach. “What brings you here, Drak.”

“The Ridge sent a cleaner for me and also gave me a note telling me that Gilnaes has fallen,” he said as his tone grew icy.

“Gilnaes was always soft,” Maria remarked dryly.

“Soft but skilled with a blade and mace. I do not see him falling easily. Something is amiss.”

Maria snorted. “If that's all you came to tell me, your time might have been better spent elsewhere.”

“I guess then that Bharash being dead means nothing to you either,” he said looking over to her. He ladled the stew into a handcrafted bowl and handed it to her.

A touch of a frown reached Maria's eyes at that revelation. “I'm sorry,” Maria offered. “He was a good man, and a fierce warrior.” Accepting the bowl, the hostility in her was slowly warming towards something more neutral and she took a seat. “I warned him,” she muttered to herself.

“Warned him of what. I do not know of any warnings,” he stated with a normal tone. For Drak to raise his voice to a normal persons tone was not normal at all. This was distress for him. His eyes locked on Maria and he sat looking at her with the ladle paused in the stew in mid action of pouring himself a bowl.

“That no good would come of things. Nothrak have been crawling their way down out of those mountains for years now,” she growled lowly. “Do you think I'm out here for my own health?” She spat then. “He said it was over, the war was done. Go home he said.” She snorted her disdain over her bowl of stew.

“What is a nothrak. I am unfamiliar with that term.”

“Shadow beasts.”

“I thought the shadow beasts were dealt with. Thats what Gilnaes said, Bharash too. The said that releasing the urn would take all of that out. I only agreed based on their recommendations,” he stated in a low but purposeful tone.

He then ladled the stew into his own bowl and for the first time lowered his mask in front of Maria. She could see his weathered face and skin as he lifted the bowl to his lips. In times past he would always leave to eat so he did not reveal his face even to those who were supposed to be his friends. The years had been rather unkind to his skin but his eyes pierced through nonetheless.

“Bharash knew,” Maria remarked bitterly. “He just didn't want to accept it. None of them did. The rumors? The attacks along the borderlands?” she asked. “Wild animals.” She snorted in disgust at the thought.

Drak sat there silently and sipped his stew. He knew that tactically at the time their decision was sound. The aftermath was unknown and untold to him. He sat contemplating the new issues. He set the bowl down and then put the mask back over the majority of his face.

‘“Then I will be leaving soon to correct this,” he said with a short icy quip.

“Leave where?” Maria asked with an abrupt arch of her brow. “Back there? You'll never make it. Even I don't venture that far south, and the years haven’t been near as hard on me. That place is crawling with worse than nothrak.”

“North. To Volos Prison in Tiria. I need to find him. I will probably go by ways of Lorandor and then a trip farther north. I’m old. I will take the scenic route.”

With this his shoulders rolled back with amusement and he sat back looking over to Maria. He took the ladle and stirred the pot of stew. He ladled up some more and offered it to Maria with a slight lean of the spoon towards her bowl.

“North? How north are you talking?” Maria asked suspiciously while waving away the offered stew. North was the complete opposite direction she would have expected him to be headed.

“I think I will travel first to the wild lands of Terra for a while. I think a trip to the eastern lands. I have never seen the east. Once I have located a few people and maybe some more supplies and knowledge I will go to Volos Prison for one last person,” he said while lost in his own thoughts.

“We need to take a trip first off however to a small village about two days from here. There is a certain old codger who loves lighting things on fire we will need to expedite our travel a bit,” Drak stated knowing this would probably not sit well with Maria.

“The Eastlands?” Maria asked with no effort to conceal the utter incredulity within her voice. “What in Skall's name could you possibly want to do in the Eastlands? The void has taken your mind, old man.” Maria snorted.

“Fine fine.. I have always wanted to see them with other people but I guess we can stick to the west. I know how you prefer your cover of trees and such. Best not to drag you through the desert. You would never forgive me.”

“You forget the last time we traveled together,” Maria remarked. Turning her head to one side, the ragged scar that ran down the length of her neck from ear to sternum was visible in the campfire light.

Drak thinks and pulls a katar from his sleeve. The mithrill filligre designs over the folding parts of the punch dagger were ornate and pulling the handle spread the blades and gave way to a ornate designed knife inside of it.

“They would not do for men in armor but I think it might give me a couple of seconds. My knee still remembers you every time it gets cold like this,” he stated pointing around at the sky motioning everywhere. “‘I think I will be fine. I am sure you may have learned a modicum of control in the many years since our last scuffle. If not I have brought curatives for both of us,” Drak stated plainly.

Maria snorted derisively, but offered no further answer.

“In the three to four years we traveled together you injured me once. You awoke in restraints the rest of the times. Except that one time when we just let you do your thing on an enemy encampment. That was amusing.”

“It was reckless,” she retorted with a grunt.

“It worked,” he said back matter of factly.

“I need to patrol the east ridge,” Maria remarked abruptly. “There's been a lot of activity out that way. Something has the nothrak riled up these past few weeks.” Discarding the empty bowl, she rose to her feet and departed as abruptly as she had arrived.

“Then gods help them. Because no one can contend with your spirit Maria,” Drak said grabbing a knife from a fold of his cloak and leaning back. He lowered his cowl slightly and let the fire dance in his eyes till he drifted to sleep.

as written by Tiko and Kordera

Drakara kept the pace up for a few hours and then went into a general trail walk. After a quick stop for some food and some water, from his water skin, he remounted the horse and kept on towards the north. A day and a half through the wilderness with only short stops for the horses and he made it to the end of a small hamlet town surrounded by tall towers at it’s corners.

One tower at the end of the town stood far above the others and shown out to sea. This lighthouse was ivory white with a black and bronze beacon atop it. Its beacon light was thrown far into the horizon for the safety of ships navigating the rocky waters.

The village bustled with families and merchants the pace of the town seemed lively enough. Drakara seeing it was getting closed to dusk stopped from coming into town and found a spot in the tree line to camp for the night. He built a small fire pit and went hunting. An hour in he found a small feral pig. He made the kill and made a dinner and drifted off to sleep. His mind raced with thoughts of the past and twitched in his sleep at the thoughts of the Wizards fire.

He rose early the next morning and went by the creek. Taking his soap, he had a quick trail bath and then went into town with both horses. He stopped at a small cottage house with mud walls and a thatched roof. It was quaint, but seemed comfortable for a mage. He dismounted the painted horse and made way to the door. Making sure to cover as much of himself with the hooded robe, he knocked on the door.

Despite the seemingly pleasant exterior of the cottage, the faint sounds of shouts and crashing could be heard from within as Drak awaited a response. The commotion was momentarily broken by the brief shout of a woman's voice. “What do you want?”

A moments time passed before the door opened to a familiar figure, though perhaps not the one Drak had come to expect. Scarcely reaching past Drak's midsection in height was a small felinoid woman with white fur and a long mane of silver hair.

Blinking up at the robed figure of Drak, it took Wren a few moments time before recognition dawned on her. “Drak! What in the blazes are you doing here!” she exclaimed to the backdrop of more screaming and the audible sound of glass shattering. Partially closing the door, she shouted loudly. “If you don't put your brother down right now, I swear by my ancestors that I'll have a new carpet in the morning!” Turning back to Drak her the utter exasperation was evident. “By the gods, please tell me that the world is in peril?”

He simply nodded to Wren and peered over her and past. “I assume the carpet would belong to you by blood relation”, He stated looking down to her. Drak took his hands out of his pockets and cracked his fingers, making his hands feel much better.

“Have you seen Vestul?”

“Vestul?” Wren asked. “Damned if I know. He left over a month ago. Watch the house for him he says! Doesn’t he know I have kids to feed?! Six of them you know! Six of them and every one as bad as the last!” Scowling she stepped outside and closed the door behind her to drown out the noise from within. “At least they're not wrecking my house. Good gods.”

Drakara let out a strained and quieted laugh. He looked to his old companion and then took a knee coming down to a better conversing level. He pulled the cowl up looking at her with his ice blues.

“I would think you could do to get away from this place for a bit. Have anyone to watch your rug rats?”

“Hell if you have to ask me twice,” Wren exclaimed. She cracking the door long just long enough to grab her cloak from inside. “Their father will be back at some point, and if fortune smiles on me I'll be leagues away from here by the time he does.”

Drakara arched an eyebrow and then motioned towards the horses. He mounted up and then looked around town. He looked over at Wren and motioned for her to take the lead.

“Please. We need to head in the direction Vestul went. And If you know anyone who can help us to destroy some big bad evil things that would be nice.”

Throwing her cloak about her shoulders, Wren swung up into the saddle of the offered horse. The animal stamped and whinnied at the suddenness of her movements, but she quickly reined it under control. “Couldn't have brought something smaller, eh?” she asked. “And I haven't a clue where he's off to. Said something about dragons and pork chops. Really, I don't have the faintest idea what he was on about.”

“There were horses and I did not expect to find you here. If you feel more comfortable with it, I am sure I could find you a miniature pony. I know how vertically challenged you are”, Drak stated with a smirk under his mask.

“I think the word you want is vertically gifted,” Wren replied with a wry grin. “So what's the great peril this time? And why are we looking for Vestul again?”

“Gilnaes and Barash were killed and my order is out for my head. The barrens are crawling with nothrak. I feel our job from twenty years ago may not be complete.”

Wren's mood sobered at the news and her grin turned to a scowl. Looking away, she took a moment to absorb the news, before she offered a response. “Northrak? You're sure of this?" she asked, but she already knew the answer. "Well if it's fire power you want, we can always head to Lorandor. They're never lacking of mage sorts up that way,” she remarked. After a brief pause she quirked her head to one side. “Hey, do you remember that foppish fellow we picked up once? Petros? I think his nephew owns an enchantment shop up that way. He passes through here a few times a year. Knows his trade.”

“As I remember him, he was with us for about half a moon cycle and Vestul lit him on fire, you almost robbed him blind for comments against you, and he almost became werewolf food.”

Drak looked around and then smiled. If they would be able to find more people that would make it all the easier to travel. Younger folk could do the things too strenuous for the aging adventurer. He nodded approvingly at the thought. Drak looked to Wren and simply asked, “Can you find this person?”

“Hah. Do you ever need to ask?” Wren asked with a grin. With that, she wheeled her horse about, and gave it a swift kick to urge it into a gallop.

as written by Tiko and Kordera

Wren and Dark's travels northward towards the city of Lorandor proved uneventful, with the only point of note being Maria's rather abrupt return about a days travel outside of the hamlet. She hadn't offered a word of explanation as to her whereabouts, nor a word of conversation since her return, opting instead to travel in silence. Wren had made several attempts to entice her less sociable traveling companions into conversation, but her efforts were met with little cooperation and soon she grew as silent as they. By the time they had reached the gates of Lorandor they might as well have been marching onward to a funeral for all the talk that had ensued.

As the trio approached the city gates, Maria drew her horse up short allowed the others to move on ahead as she gazed upon the looming city. Her unease was evident in her stiffened posture and watchful gaze, but her moment of wariness passed as she kicked her horse back into motion, trailing behind Wren and Drak by several paces.

Up ahead there was a crowd collected at the gates with impatient men and women jostling one another as they awaited questioning to gain entry into the city. Wagons of goods and clusters of livestock lined the roadside, and through the gates the congestion was all the worse. Wagons were backed up down the length of the street and were being searched by guards before they could depart the city.

Drak piped up in his usual hushed tone, ‘I guess we'll find out what has this place in such a tizzy very soon. I just hope your friend is not at the heart of it, Wren.”

At his side, Wren let out a low laugh. “I think it's safe to say they're not searching half the city for mage enchantments. I'll have a listen around and see what I can find out. His shop should be down in the mage district, Quillion's Magical Emporium I think.” Sliding down off her horse, she passed the reigns to Drak before slipping off into the crowd.

as written by Tiko, Jask, and Kordera

Quillion Marcarius Barthus sat behind a desk, pouring over a manuscript that explained the for a complex growth enchantment. His mind picked through the diagram, trying to figure out where he could combine it with a nourishment spell. A bell sounded at his side and he jerked his attention away from his pet project and tucked the manuscript into a hollow space under the furniture just in time for his door to open and the little simple bell over the door to ring.

Drakara walked into the shop with the jingle of the bell and began to peruse its shelves. He looked over the odds and ends that would make any novice sorcerer drool and more experienced ones would smile at it’s selection. Drak walked around noticing some things a bit out of place from rude and messy shoppers. After a few minutes of looking he then stepped up to the counter.

“You are Quillion, I presume,” stated Drak.

“I am, sir. How might I help you today?” Quillion asked.

“Are you the nephew of Petros the mage?”

After a moment of thought, Quillion asked, “Which Petros?”

Drak crossed his arms and tapped his foot a couple times looking at the human behind the counter. He turned over a coin and the end of his kunai in one sleeve with his right hand. He wondered if he was amused enough to pay the man or offended enough to threaten him. He was not exactly sure which suited his fancy.

“The Petros who went adventuring twenty years ago with Gilnaes of Troubthorn.”

Quillion tapped his fingers on the countertop as he listened to Drak. They paused as he said, “I do have an uncle named Petros. I hear that he did some adventuring. Who it was with? I only remember a thief named Wren being mentioned... also a slavering monster he called Maria... when he wasn’t calling her less savory things. My mother said he was never the same after that... adventure.” He smiled faintly.

“So no mention of me then. The tall human who saved him from said slavering beast named Maria,” Drak said relaxing his stance a little.

He tapped his fingers on the countertop again as he mulled over his memories. “Ah, you are Drak then. An assassin, if memory serves. I do not remember much else, sadly. He did not remember the days fondly.”

“When you complain about your food being cold, and then have a pyromancer heat it for you with a fireball at close proximity, anger a thief, and then get half eaten by someone afflicted with the condition of a werewolf, do you expect them to be normal?”

With a slow, deliberate shrug Quillion said, “What can you expect from a wealthy merchant’s son that never rode a horse outside of a city before? But if you are looking for my uncle, I am afraid he passed some time ago.”

“I was actually looking for you. Wren said I could find you here. Would you mind coming along with us on an adventure, young man?”

A dark brown eyebrow arched slowly. “Where exactly would we be going and for how long?” Quillion asked.

“Many different places and we will potentially be gone several years,” Drak stated plainly. His eyes locked with Quillion’s just for a moment. Drakara was hoping to show his sincerity.

Quillion took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Years is a long time to leave my shop without an owner. My assistant is a promising young journeyman. To ask him to maintain my home for so long might be a little much. What need do you have of an enchanter?”

“Do you not trust in your own skill set? It should be obvious why we need an enchanter. We’re going to be going against things that are not of the physical realm and we need experts to help us survive. You are up to helping us identify magical things and spells, aren’t you.”

Quillion passively watched Drakara and let silence hang in the air as he studied the assassin. “I’m afraid that why you need me is not obvious, as you have not told me what it is we are facing. Forgive me if I do not have the ability to read minds. I am currently not equipped with that circlet.”

“Even if you were, It would be of no good. I do not know what we are facing, where we are headed in exact locations, nor do I know how long this will all take. This is why it is called an adventure,” Drakara said with a sharp nod of his head.

Quillion sighed. “That is not entirely helpful.”

“I do not know what we would be facing. I do however give you a rare opportunity to meet Wren and Maria both. Today.”

“How delightful,” he drawled. “I have met Wren, and I do believe you’ll have to do better to entice me on a journey. However, I might go and travel with you to field test some of my latest enhancements. Highly experimental, probably volatile. Possibly. Safety in numbers and some such nonsense.”

“Safety in numbers. I agree. Testing enchantments. Fine. Do not test them on us however unless it is dire for our survival and you have a greater than fifty percent chance it would work. I would not like to see anyone turned into anything,” Drak paused. “Unnatural.”

“I do not test my enchantments on people. That would be inappropriate.”

“How soon can you be prepared to leave?”

“A few hours, I suppose. However, the city is on high alert. Something dreadfully exciting happened last night at the palace. Rumors are flying, but I imagine it was a robbery of sorts.”

‘Any ideas who might have been so brazen and bold to go after a well defended mark like that?”

“A thief,” Quillion said plainly, as if that were all that needed to be said.

“We are staying at the Gold Stallion and would like for you to join us there when you are prepared,” Drak stated avoiding the snarky remark.

“I hear good things about the Gold Stallion. I have even had their roasted veal stew. Quite good, actually.”

Drakara nodded and then looked to the younger man. He nodded his head and then turned to leave. He paused mid stride and looked to him. With a single hand he pulled his cowl back down a little lower.

“I hope to see you there when you get prepared. I will make sure that provisions are provided for the trip. In the meantime I will be procuring a cart for us to carry additional traveling supplies. Something with a small cover so we have shelter from very stormy nights. Please meet me mid day or soon after when you have prepared yourself,” Drak said with a smile under his mask.

“I already have a cart and a good horse to pull it,” Quillion said. “I simply need to speak to my assistant and let him know that I will be away for an undetermined amount of time. He may need to find new work....” Quillion stared into nothing as they thought.

“I can cover his wages while he finds new work if that is your wish. Let me know, so you and he are not negatively affected with this sudden switch. Come see me at the Gold Stallion, I leave you to your preparations.”

With that he simply gave a slight nod and headed directly for the door. Upon exiting the small shop he then mounted his horse. He headed over to the Gold Stallion and met with the stable boy and paid him to take care of the horse before walking in and waiting for the rest to arrive.