The Kingdom of Magna

It was a chill morning up in the foothills north of the capital. Enough to turn the breath into a fine mist and cause the men on watch to rub their hands together an breathe into them. The frosts had yet to fall on Magna, which was a relief for most involved, particularly the residents of the small camp, sat up against a hillside amid thick tree cover. The heavy rainfall in Autumn and Spring was miserable enough when one was living in a tent, but when the snow and frost came it became a whole different, and astonishingly unpleasant ideal. Indeed camp life was rife with its own difficulties, but most who dwelt in that place found it to be a far better alternative than what would await them in civilization.

It was visible from the hilltop on a clear day, as it was that morning, the capital city and the royal palace, sat in a wide valley of urban sprawl and farmland. The castle itself was placed upon a small hill, causing it it rise above the houses of the city, the pale stones and carved masonry still stark in the sunlight. It was still an impressive piece of architecture, but cracks had begun to show. The east tower had begun to crumble, the roof starting to lean rather alarmingly. No longer in use, and with appearances no longer being a concern, some auxilliary buildings had begun to fall. If one had access to a spyglass from the hill too one might see the figures on the ramparts and realize that despite the armour and the royal crests on their tabards, there was something...off about them. The shuffling, listless manner in which they walked, the fact that they never seemed to retire or change shifts...and occasionally one might see as one turned, the glean of white, exposed cranium in the morning sun.

Down in the camp, things were in a rather pleasant mood however. Spirits were still high from their recent considerable victory in recovering the heir to the throne of Magna. It was something which many had thought to be impossible, or indeed so completely, suicidally dangerous that it was not worth undertaking, and yet they'd somehow succeeded. Any such achievement was enough to raise morale.

Alongside that, they'd also managed to acquire some fresh supplies, making for the first truly fulfilling breakfast the men had eaten in some time. One herbalist had treated the fire that burned in the centre of camp in order to ensure it did not give off a smoke trail, and a large cast iron pan was huge over it, on which eggs and chunks of meat were being cooked.

There were a few farmers that did support the cause, and occasionally they would gift the members with food. Eggs, flour and milk were rare commodities, and for the most part they made do with game and wild plants. As a result, the food was attracting a lot of attention, enough to drag out those who were usually rather too attached to their bed rolls.

It was only a murmur at first, muffled by the dazed and drowsy state of the listener, as well as by the layers of cloth, fur, fluff, and skin. It was, at first, ignored due to its assumed nature as a trick of a semi-conscious mind that was currently in a state between sober and incredibly drunk, but its repetition ceased such notions. To have any chance of clearly understanding what this persistent murmur had to say, the great leader of the rebellion, who had launched a direct assault on the enemy castle and emerged with an incredibly important hostage, fought a losing battle against the layers that had kept her warm and happy against the cold and all-together horrible nature of the country Lenia now occupied. While untangling herself from the knot that she had inadvertently created was likely impossible in her current state, that didn't stop her from wriggling her body around until her head finally emerged from the amalgamation.

"Chief, most of the men are awake and eating, including the prince." It was a gruff voice that, while familiar, couldn't be identified until the actual image of the speaker was visible before Lenia's glazed eyes. Gnaeus Flavinius, her second in command in Maius and the third man of the rebellion.

"Right... right!" There was a rather large delay between the beginning of her statement and its conclusion, but when the notion that she was awake and needed to stay awake reached her, her eyes focused and her mind rid itself of its confusion. Exerting actual effort to free herself from the tangled mess lying atop her, she pulled her body through the hole with which her head had found its freedom and now sat on her conquered foe. Exposing herself to the cold nature of the world outside the safety and comfort of her bed was met with the, completely expected, reaction of a body covered in tiny bumps and shivering; this country wasn't as kind to those who eschewed clothing as warm, sunny Maius was. With the one who awoke her still present and still awaiting an actual order, unfazed by something he had seen on many occasions, she ripped the first sheet of cloth she could reach around her suffering body and took her first step off the bed. Thankfully, it was not as cold as she had expected and her feet were capable of treading upon it without constant complaint. Walking over to Flavinius and taking nourishment from the tray of food he had brought her, she was ready to give out her orders.

"Thank you, brother, for helping me escape the enigmatic and enthralling Realm of Dreams." Her hand came to rest on his shoulder and a smile appeared on her face for the first time that day to show her appreciation, but then it was rescinded as she searched about for her cloths. "I need you to spread the word around the men that we'll be breaking camp today; we've stayed here too long and I want to establish ourselves further south for the winter. When you're out and about, make sure to find Neira and send her to my tent. We need to discuss how we'll be traveling and how we'll be establishing ourselves along the border."

With a simple nod, saluting having been determined as something too indicative of foreignness and potentially harmful to the barbarians' moral, Flavinius took his leave from the tent. He would tell the officers to begin breaking camp and find the respective parties and inform them that they were to report to the Chief's tent. Hopefully they would arrive after she had regained her full composure and gotten rid of whatever extra person or persons still remained enwrapped in her bed.

That smell. Lord, that smell. It almost made her forget the cold sweat that covered her body and the horrible nightmare that had caused it.
She breathed in through her nose, checking to make sure the smell was real, and, upon deciding that it was, she exhaled, her breath hanging in the air above her head, like silvery cobwebs.
She unpeeled herself from the warmth of her bed roll, pulling on her hooded cloak in a desperate grab at warmth or mid comfort as her sweat dried and made her feel even colder, and stood, grabbing the bow and quiver next to her bed roll, slinging both over her right shoulder as she combed her fingers through her blonde hair, braiding it back with ease. Though it was very early, with the first bits of sunlight struggling to shine over the looming castle in the distance, she noted that many other members of the company were already awake, stretching, and glancing in the direction of a fire in the middle of camp, from which the delicious smell was wafting. It hit her that she had not taken substantial nourishment in a week. Not since they had rescued the prince and the nightmares had returned with such vengeance. Kri, carefully adjusting her armor, which she slept in every night in case she was either attacked or accidentally stabbed herself (it had happened before) began to move towards the fire, pushing a random, nameless figure out of her way as they attempted to cross in front of her, hurrying off somewhere.
“Watch it.” She hissed between her teeth, before continuing onward, hoping that maybe whatever food was cooking would somehow rid her mind of the horrible images of the night before. It had been ages since the dreams had been so bad as to last through the waking hours of the day. She feared the vision would never fade. Each time her eyelids shut, they were there, with such immense clarity. The moment she thought of the dream again, her eyelids squeezed shut, and the vision came back. The throne of bones. The fire. The screams that echoed in her ears as life faded into death and death into so much more. The screams grew louder and more pained the longer her eyes were closed. Then she heard the name. The name of the one the screams were pleading with, and her eyes shot open again, as her lungs heaved for air.

She had an arrow nocked on her bowstring, which was pointed directly at the chest of the man she recognized as third-in-command, her arm extended and fingers poised as if to shoot. He blinked at her, frowning, and she returned her weapon to its place on her shoulder, unsure of how exactly to apologize for what had transpired. However, before she could possibly even begin to speak, he turned on his heel, walking in the opposite direction of the fire.
Kriara, for the first time in many years, felt herself fall to the cold ground and begin to weep, the voices of death screaming in her ears, as warm tears slid down her cheeks and flames burned behind her eyes.
But, soon, reminding herself that she was not weak, nor fragile, and that the future often changed, she stood, and made her way to the fire, helping herself to food and seating herself at an empty table, eyes focused on the meat she had taken, and began to eat.

Rae's eyes slowly blinked open, her mind rapidly dispelling the dream she'd been having and replacing it with the walls of reality. Rebellion. Dead king. Rescued heir. Her pale, pink lips twitched into a smile as she recalled the day they'd rescued him. It'd been so risky, most called it a suicide mission; but they returned with no casualties and the rightful heir to the throne. They were heroes.

Flipping onto her back, Rae took a deep, cleansing breath, loving the way the cold air stung her throat. The many blankets that smothered her were incredibly warm, cocooning her in a safe haven away from the war that polluted everything else. She considered staying in bed for a while longer, even though she could hear that most of the others were awake, but then she smelled it - food. Her stomach gurgled in response, longing for something other than the usual wild game and roots.

Slipping from the blankets, Elliot put on her usual garb and plunged her hands into the thick jacket she'd picked up somewhere along the way. After tying up her boots and fastening her sword around her hip, she exited the tent she called home. Running a hand through her black hair, Rae took a moment to observe the people around her. She knew most of them by name, many of them waving as they noticed her. They all seemed...happy. Yes, they were fighting a losing war. Yes, they had a long way to go. But they had won a battle, and it was enough to keep them smiling for weeks.

"El, you're up!" Rae turned her head to see her older brother jogging towards her. "It's about time, little sister." He slung his impressively large arm onto her shoulders, quickly enveloping her in his warmth and familiar smell.

"I couldn't ignore the smell of food much longer," she replied, playfully elbowing him in the ribs. Carson was the brother closer to her in age and they'd been inseparable since they were little. Elliot would give her life for him, and he would do the same for her. It was nice to have someone that you could trust so completely. "Come on, let's get something to eat."

They walked to the large, smokeless fire that many of the others had encircled, soaking up the heat the dancing flames gave off. The smell was strong enough to make Rae's mouth water and her stomach clench in response. She ducked under Carson's arm and grabbed the nearest food, shoveling it down her mouth. "Oh, God." Rae groaned through a full mouth. The new supplies they'd acquired wouldn't last forever, but Elliot couldn't help herself; she just really loved food.

From the saftey of cover, Axael watched the group. He'd followed them from the city - completely by accident... mostly. He'd been in the process of leaving when he saw them escorting who appeared to the Prince from within the walls. The moon elf had arrived at a very bad time, the city was in chaos - and he'd instantly regretting coming here. Moreso when he heard talk about the necromancer puppeting the previously dead King.

The smell of their food wafted in the air and made him hungry, his stomach complaining about being all but empty. He sighed softly and shifted a little on his haunches to keep his crouch comfortable. If only he'd been quicker, he could have possibly nabbed some of their food for himself - but alas, he'd taken an impromptu nap and now they were awake and cooking.

Perhaps he could... work for some food, offer his services in exchange. That would be better than hunting by himself, or starving. He still wasn't completely adept at survival in the wilds. Quietly, he scuttled from the bush and brushed the loose leaves and dirt from his clothing before he tucked some loose strands of hair back under his hood.

Right, let's do this.

Moving around to a different side of the camp, he strode into the clearing, pretty sure these guys were going to instantly get defensive of a stranger just... waltzing into their camp.

The early sun provided little warmth against the biting chill; the cold wound it's way into everything. Eventually, as the days grew shorter, the cold would seep into the very bones of the rebels, blanketing them in a miserable existence that would last for months. It had yet to get to that point, however, and Carson Rae was taking advantage of it. His footsteps were loud and destructive as his feet struck the ground, driving him through the woods. He didn't always run in the morning, but he liked to. It made him feel free and powerful, like he could run to the ends of the earth and back. In reality, he couldn't run far at all, seeing as they would all be killed were they discovered by the enemy.

He pounded his way through the trees, tripping several times over roots, but never making contact with the nearly frozen ground. He wasn't sure how long he ran, but he decided to turn around when he felt a pain blossom in his right side. By the time he made it back to his tent, the pain had looped around to the other side and clasped onto his ribs. It felt amazing.

Using a bowl of freezing water, he cleaned himself off as best he could and changed into some of the warmer clothes he had stuffed somewhere into his bag. His boots were barely tied when he left the tent once again and went to find something to drink; his mouth was hoarse with cold air and heavy breathing.

Carson spent the next hour or so sipping on freezing water and talking with other guys who were early risers as well. They mostly talked about the rescue mission the rebellion had enacted and succeeded in a week ago; it was all anyone ever talked about. It had been a huge boost in morale, showing the motley group they were doing some good. Carson wasn't on the group that had gone, seeing as he lacked the skills to complete the mission effectively, but his sister had been. He'd never been more proud.

The sun rose higher and the rest of the rebellion stirred awake, the smell of food wafting into their dreams. It was hard to resist the smell of real food and the lovely heat of a fire.

"El, you're up!" Carson called, noticing his sister exiting her tent. He jogged over to her, "It's about time, little sister." He placed his arm around her shoulders, as he had since they were kids. He laughed as she mentioned food - Elliot had always been in love with food, it was a wonder she'd survived this long with having to ration it.

Carson let her go as she grabbed a bowl from somewhere, or someone, his nose crinkling at the way she scarfed it down without any hesitation. His eyes left her, scanning the immediate area. Their little rebellion was awake, the people milling around exchanging pleasantries or staggering from nasty hangovers. It seemed their week long celebration was coming to an end.

It took Finn a while to realise where he was, when he woke from something too superficial to be called sleep. Although his breath still misted the air as it had done down in the cells below the keep, the taut brown canvas a few inches above his face, the call of birdsong and the faint chatter of voices were utterly alien the briefest of moments. Until he remembered.

It was odd that, however much he found his new situation to be strange and unfamiliar, the dank musk of the dungeon and the echo of footsteps on stone seemed a thousand years rather than seven sun-downs ago. It was quite possible that things would always be strange and unfamiliar from now on.

His eyes were raw from the lack of sleep and the chill air and he would have liked nothing more than to close them again and dig himself back under the blankets to find an isolation of softness and warmth that was like being buried alive. But he knew this would be futile; sleep didn't come easily and it certainly wouldn't come twice in one morning. Better to get up and fool himself into thinking he was doing something worthwhile. That and he could smell eggs cooking...

Slowly, painfully, he struggled out of the folds of felt and pulled on his boots with clumsy fingers. The newest additions to the scars on his back, inflicted only a few days before they were freed, tugged painfully as he turned to pull on a fur-lined cloak over his clothes. But it was already pink with newly-healed skin- courtesy of the healer everyone else called Rae- and would soon cease to hurt at all; nothing in comparison with what he'd had to endure before. He fastened it under his chin and tugged it down, further over his shoulders. With the bulk of the fur and the woollen tunic underneath it was almost impossible to tell exactly how gaunt he was; he loathed the way his ribs were visible beneath thin slabs of pectoral muscle, how his biceps stood up like strings as he pushed himself up off the floor of the tent and unsteadily stepped outside into the morning sunlight. It made him feel weak and insubstantial, as if he could be buffeted about by the slightest wind. Worse still, he was reminded of the flesh-ragged skeletons that stalked the walls of the castle.

Slowly weaving his way in between the tents, he lowered himself down onto a seat by the fire. Many of the members of the camp were already up; he recognised the healer and a man so alike her in looks he guessed him to be her brother, a blonde archer who had been part of the raiding party who had retrieved he and Aleric from the dungeons and Neira, the second-in-command who often looked as blank and distant as Finn inwardly felt. With a fleeting grin at each of them, he took the bowl that had been passed to him and hungrily dug into his breakfast, though not as rapidly as he would have liked. Eating too much too soon could make him ill, he'd been told when he first arrived at the camp. But it was so difficult when the smell of cooked eggs seemed akin to the most decadent feasts his uncle had thrown at court in his youth.

Orogoth was among the first awoken among the camp. Those days in which he indulged himself in alcohol, woke up the next morning with his head pounding and bed warm, were over but the fact remained that so many others were still so young and lively. Their very own leader was one such person and to what little observations he had after drinking a glass of beer before quickly retreating back to his small study/tent, sometime during the week, a rather boisterous, roaring drunk. It was good cause for celebration, the prince had been rescued, and no rebel casualties. Though it seemed everyone was in good cause for celebration except for Orogoth himself as it seemed he thought he was the only one who could see how the prince was in no shape of rule. Neither prince, for it's easy to disregard their physical wounds as to be healed by the matron of time, but not the wounds of their minds.

Those wounds are something not even the healing hands of magic can soothe over and there is only so much time the matron can spare.

In just the three months since "Duma" found the rebellion, he had his own fair share of contributions: the most recent of which was the drawing of a main floor plan with what sources and information the rebellion could gather. Although he himself had a blueprint of the castle, they were hastily drawn/copied in secret during his youth, the paper was spoiled, but bits and pieces were salvageable.

As the hunched half-orc sat on his small work-table, tending to a gauntlet with a ring, twine, and a sharp dagger, the scent of food had snaked it's way into his small, yet solitary tent. It was distracting him and with a sigh, he decided to leave his cozy tent, filled with blueprints, and stands of dead birds with their wings spread and left with his own custom crossbow in hand, the same one he slept with. It was half the size of a regular crossbow, light, had a magazine of four bolts on top and a lever which made for faster loading. What remained though, was that it was considerably weak, sometimes misfired, and with a good knock it could easily break. It was a prototype though so he kept a dagger just in case. Improvements would be made, things had to be done.

The air was nice and cold, Orogoth only too used to Magna's climate, dressed in only leggings and a dirty tunic with long sleeves. For his feet, they were wrapped in a thin cloth and placed into sandals, for what little warmth that can offer.

Although he could have just had at the stale pieces of bread he had saved up in his room, the taste and texture of actual cooked bread, with meat or eggs, became something of a luxury meal nowadays. Neira, passed him as he went to the fire, and he recounted how generally odd it was that the leaders of the rebellion were women save for that one guy. Back when he was still an architect, he had worked with high-ranking officers of the Magna military, generally in making their homes, and he observed that they were always male. Of course, Orogoth himself couldn't speak about military tactics, and he wasn't the one who rescued the heirs to the throne, so really it was a dead thought.

Still, there was something about Neira. Maybe it was just the contrast when put beside their lively leader, Tacita, but something was odd about her. Orogoth didn't trust her but then again, he didn't trust anyone.

In the midst of justifying his distrust, he walked into the body of one of the young rebels, just a slight taller then himself, his shoulder rubbing off of him. "Watch it." He instinctively growled before he even took a look at the man, noticing it before he continued to move before stopping, turning round his heel, and staring right at him. Three months in a small and steady group and it was in the first and a half before he get a general feel for everyone's faces.

Then again, he pulled this shit the day before the rebellion snuck into the castle, nerves as it was. In a way, it made sense that this was actually a spy, considering that throughout this whole week, they were at their least vigilant, celebrating.

Standing just about six feet away from the suspected intruder, Orogoth barked at him in both an english and quickly after an elvish tongue, slightly raising the small crossbow he held in one hand as he did so. The string wasn't pulled back but there was no way anyone but Duma knew thanks to its strange design that hid the bowstring from sight.

"Who are you?"
"Who are you?"

After those questions, his left hand had gone to his hip to check if he was missing anything, like an empty leather pouch. What can he say, old habits die hard, and after 170 years of checking his pockets everytime someone bumped into him in the city, the habit needed to be decapitated, quartered, gutted, asphyxiated and smothered before it can ever die.

As the... whatever he was saw him and drew a bow, Axael raised his hands up quickly; palms facing outwards. "I'm not here to cause harm." He replied calmly, his gaze meeting that of the orc-looking male. "I smelt your food, and thought I could perhaps have some? I've not eaten in a few days." True or not, he was starving right now. "I was leaving the city, it's too messy there right now."

Rae finished her food quickly, enjoying the sensation of a full stomach. It seemed she was always hungry, with everyone having to ration the food and whatnot. "Oh, Finn!" Elliot called, returning his small grin. Though his wounds were extensive and deep, she'd been helping the other healers with trying to speed up the body's natural recovery. It was difficult work and very exhausting, but between the lot of them, they'd had some good progress.

Wrapping her jacket more tightly around her, she plopped down beside him. "How do you feel?" When the rebel group had rescued him and the prince, they'd hardly been recognizable as human. At first, some worried if they were like the King; dead and risen from the grave. They were, however, alive - but barely. Rae shuddered to think what they'd been put through.

Kri, hunger finally sated, stood, and glanced around. The healer, Rae, was seated next to Finn, the cousin of the heir to the throne. Kri, before she was able to think better of it, sat down next to the healer and the prince. "Um," she began, looking down, hoping the healer had paused her conversation or was at least sort of listening. "Rae, right? I need some help with this problem I've been having... How much do you know about dreams?" She stared at her fingers, praying Finn wasn't listening too closely.

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A child glared at her father with dangerous intentions, whispering words of hate and disgust. Though the man, or what seemed close to a man, merely turned around and left her alone. "Your useless." He simple said, as if it was a fact. And sadly, she was about to believe that. But her hate for him was not going to allow it. 'Your better.' She tells herself repeatably, hoping to keep her sanity. 'Your better then him" It was a nightmare though.. But she saw it as reality..and before she ran off, a stabbing pain filled her chest, then she scr-

"I'm not here to cause harm."
Blue eyes fluttered open as an unfamiliar voice was heard nearby the tree she was resting on. And so quietly, she leaned forward from her laying position on the branch and took a small scan on what was happening. Oh what was this?

'Interesting. It seems that we attracted a rat..'

A stranger. Something that is disliked by many here she noticed, seeing how when she arrived in the past .. it didnt end too well.
However he seemed harmless, nor did he seem to have too much of a bad intention... She should Still take responsibility by she leaping down, and cutting his throat... but she wasn't in the mood for it..
But then again...as much as she didn't want to catch attention, she wouldn't go back to sleep anyways, so why not? Seems.. "fun." So, slipping down from the branch, she landed near them, her steps almost mute.

"He's harmless." She said towards the half orc, with a musing smirk. "So no need to waste your skills." Arrogant as ever. But she looked at the orc with serious eye. 'Keep your guard up.' This man, still was a stranger- and an intruder, so cautions of course needed to be taken.

Dusting off the non-existing dust off her clock, she pulled down her hood to reveal long dark hair and bright blue eyes, that seemed to stare straight into the strangers soul. But there was nothing to see. Not with the little info and disguised appearance. Though the idea of him coming near for just food was giving her an idea. 'maybe he is looking for even more.'
now, Would she or any of the others give it to him? Well, maybe but for the rest, she wasent sure. She assumed it would matter about his alliances, background. Does he hate Skorn as well, or is he those people who remain mutual, or too cowardly to join the rebellion, afraid of death? A thief perhaps? It would be funny if he was seeing how his lines of "I'm not here to cause harm.", and such seemed almost too unoriginal and cliche, though she didn't detect a lie...
What would Duma think?
Hopefully he would take the situation with less anger then he usually does in most events. It came questioning, however that someone would come toward a large camp for food, and at times like this? Food seemingly was growing more scarce, and times were goig rough. It was dangerous just to approach a group like this- well if you were innocent like this man supposedly claims. 'Maybe he is stupid or just desperate..'

[short and messy, but it was quickly made ><]

"I'm not here to cause harm."

"And that's exactly what a rotten spy would say!" Duma thought immediately before flaring his nostrils and disbelieving every word he said. For all he knew, the figure before him could have been a blasted illusion, and a patsy meant to distract him.

"Is that so?" The half-orc said in a voice almost patronizing and dripping with disbelief, the crossbow in his hands unwavering in their position, almost as if to coax the man out. The words behind the old man made him jump and turn in the direction of the voice, pulling the trigger of the empty crossbow just before he could recognize the short Lucine. His surprised face quickly turned into an angry scowl at the sight of the Necromancer's daughter and pulled the lever back to actually load the crossbow with one of four bolts in the magazine.

"So no need to waste your skills."

Duma would have told her to run off and find some lives to ruin if it wasn't for the fact that there wasn't a more important intruder right in front of him. Even with that serious look in her eye, the sort allies would give to one-another, the half-orc didn't trust her, especially her.

"Stop sneaking up on people!" He shouted at her in his guttural voice before turning back to the red-haired intruder, crossbow still in hand, probably about to regret letting the man walk but first things first:

He needed to check if their intruder was an illusion.

"Hands behind your head. Try anything funny and a bolt goes in between your teeth." Duma would walk closer with the crossbow at the ready and pat the stranger down. By Orogoth's logic, an illusionist could either make an illusion that wasn't physically tangible, or an illusion that is. If an illusion was physical, an illusion would be either be imperfect or too perfect.

The illusionist is like a clay modeller. Either he gets the dimensions of the body wrong, or he gets it too right, and the body is running on borderline perfection without a spot or blemish, unlike regular people. Save for the exceptions when aristocrats would powder their faces and their shoulders whenever they would go out to look spotless themselves, Orogoth doubted anyone would be powdering their faces nowadays, for the ball of the dead perhaps.

Orogoth's face was staring straight into the red-haired man while he patted him down with one hand, while the other still held the crossbow now pressed up against the man's chest. If Axael did nothing, Orogoth would have taken whatever he had around his belt, before going behind the man to give him instructions, noting beforehand the odd almost disfigured shape of one of his ears behind the hood.

"Food tent's over there. Start walking." Duma said, pointing to the area, and nudging the stranger at the same time to make him go forward. "You touch anyone, breath to anyone, talk to anyone, I'll shoot you. If there is an earthquake, someone chokes, or fall and crack their skull open, I'm blaming you. Now get going, you knife-eared begger."

Aleric felt the crack of the lash on his back. Over and over it struck, and after what seemed like hours, his tormentor became bored. They decided to pick up a hot poker, but he had no idea what was coming until he felt it stabbed into his flesh, making his neurons flare and his nerve endings scream until he blacked out - He awoke with a start, covered in a cold sweat, unsure the day, or even his current location.

He realized that it had all been a nightmare, a flashback.

His tent looked like an alien world in the mid-morning gloom. He had received many gifts from well-wishers over the past week, most of which were just small trinkets or choice goods, all of which he accepted graciously. However, one of his favorites was a beautifully embroidered sword belt that had been made for him by a local weaver.

He looked up, having been awoken by the flapping the his tent's entrance, and there stood one Gnaeus Flavinius

Finn managed not to cringe when Elliot called his name and put down his wooden spoon as she moved to sit beside him. Not because he didn't like her; everyone seemed to like the affable healer and Finn was no exception, but because she was perhaps the only person who knew the full extent of what had been done to he and Aleric during their time in the crypts under the castle and that in itself added another unwanted layer to the sense of vulnerability he was trying still to shake off.

"Like death," he said, sardonically. "But better for this," he added, waving his spoon at his breakfast.

Not wanting to discuss the minutae of the healing process he'd been undergoing in front of the ragtag group of people sitting at the fire, he rapidly changed the subject.

"Is that your brother?" he asked, nodding towards Carson.


"Like death," Finn replied, to which Elliot stiffened a little. It saddened her to see someone in so much pain, especially when the cause of it was so sick. "But better for this," He added, indicating the food. Rae smiled, glad he was able to stomach the food.

"Is that your brother?" Finn asked, nodding towards Carson.

"Yes," Rae replied happily, spotting her brother on the other side of the fire, engaged in a loud conversation with several other men. "His name is Carson; we joined the rebellion together. You'd like him." Running a small hand through her hair, Elliot flicked her eyes towards Finn, then back to the fire. "Were you and Aleric close, before everything happened?"


Resuming eating, Finn raised an eyebrow at Rae's question then glanced in the direction of Aleric's tent. He was certain that, if the two of them had been resident at the rebel camp for longer, or if they'd roused enough strength to spend more time in the company of the rebels, the answer would have been obvious.

"The last time I saw him before my uncle- the king, I mean- died, he was a boy, not a man. Play-fighting with wooden swords in the corridors of the castle... It must have been six or seven years at least," he said, in between mouthfuls. "So no, we were not close."

He set down the spoon into the empty bowl and luxuriated in the sensation of a full stomach. It was still a novel feeling.

"Anyway, once you know us a little better, you will see we are not at all alike," he added. "Much to my own detriment."


Elliot didn't know much about Finn at all, or if he'd grown up around his cousin, or what their relationship was like. Though she all but worshiped the King as a young girl (her father often told stories of his heroism and good heart), she hadn't cared much for the prince or any other royal family members. Her brothers used to tell her they were rich bastards that didn't care for people such as themselves. It was hard to remember thinking such things when seeing Finn and Aleric in such a frail state.

She had been hoping that he'd say yes, that they were like brothers. It was so awful what he'd been put through, Elliot had hoped Finn had someone to rely on; someone from his past that would help him through this whole mess. But his reply to her question confirmed he didn't have anyone, everyone he was close to was gone. Rae mumbled an oh, and looked away.

"Anyway, once you know us a little better, you will see we are not at all alike," Elliot looked back at Finn as he spoke. "Much to my own detriment."

"I do look forward to getting to know you both better; but you're perfectly lovely, Finn." Elliot considered him for a moment, then continued, "We'll be good friends. Then we'll take back this kingdom, put that son of a bitch Skorn in the ground - along with his army - and you'll have your life back." Elliot smiled, knowing what she was saying was a bit silly, but she hoped it would make him feel a little better.


Finn matched her smile with his own and cocked his head at her.

"Perhaps. And perhaps by then you'll have learned to take what I say less seriously too," he said. He opened his mouth to say something else but paused as the blonde wood-elf who'd been sitting at the table across the fire from them stood up and cautiously approached Rae. Sensing that this was not something he was supposed to be a witness to, he retrieved his dagger (given to him when he'd first been taken back to the camp) pretended to examine it closely before picking up a piece of branch from the floor and beginning to whittle it down.

Rae turned to see Kri sit beside her, a few moments passing before she spoke. "Um," she began, "Rae, right? I need some help with this problem I've been having... How much do you know about dreams?"

Quickly running through her mind, Rae couldn't think of having learned anything in her healing studies that had to do with dreams. After all, it wasn't a physical injury; there couldn't be much a healer could do. "Not much," she finally replied. "Why?"




"I'm telling you, it's true!" Carson laughed loudly at his friend's proclamation of honesty; no way he took on that many dead. But he appreciated the story, even if the truth was stretched a bit - it made them laugh, and feel a bit closer. And that can go a long way when you need to rely on them in battle.

"I'll believe it when I see it," he replied simply, playfully punching the fellow rebel in the shoulder.

"You touch anyone, breath to anyone, talk to anyone, I'll shoot you. If there is an earthquake, someone chokes, or fall and crack their skull open, I'm blaming you. Now get going, you knife-eared begger." Carson turned as he heard this, wondering what was going on. He saw Duma and...who was that?

"Hey!" He walked towards them quickly. "What is this? Who is he?"

"Not much."The healer replied. Kri could feel her heart sink slightly, and she fiddled with her fingers as a way to distract herself. "Why?"
She paused, trying to decide whether or not to trust Rae. "Um." Kri glanced at Finn, who seemed deeply absorbed in carving a piece of wood. "It's kind of a long story. When I was little, I used to have these really horrible nightmares." She knitted her fingers together and stared at them. "And I was convinced that these nightmares were coming true." She could feel her face growing hot. "And everyone would tell me they were just dreams. That they couldn't possibly come true. But when I got older, they got worse. And everything that happened in my nightmares came true. And now..."
She trailed off, rubbing her eyes, before completing her thought, "Now they're the worst they've ever been. So, as a healer... I was hoping you could help me. But if you can't..."
She paused, hoping for Rae not to think she was completely out of it, to offer some sort of help or sage words of advice. Or, deep within her heart, that the healer would just snap her fingers and magically heal her of prophecy. But she knew that couldn't happen. Still, it helped her to get some of the burden off her chest. She hoped Elliot couldn't hear the fear she felt about the dreams coming true.

Having collected and donned the majority of her clothes, and shooed her bedmates out of her bed and then from her tent, Lenia approached the bronze wash basin that one of the men had thankfully filled with clean water fresh from the firepits just before Flavinius had arrived. Not wanting to waste the fading warmth while living in such a cold place, she reached her hands in and, making for herself an adequate cup, brought the water up to her face in an attempt to remove her previous disheveled appearance. After repeating this process until her vanity was sated, she was quick to dry every inch of her that had gotten wet so as to avoid experiencing any more of that damnable cold that she despised.

With said morning routine completed, and the appearance of her reflection acceptable, she approached the table on which Flavinius had set her breakfast and slid the bowl of assorted foods to the side so she could examine the map that lay under it. The table wasn't as big as she would prefer, what with a, rather small, map occupying the majority of it, but such luxuries were sacrificed for practicality. Taking a seat in the stool beside the table, she dragged her finger across the map along the path she would prefer to take, stopping just before she crossed the border. Though it was under layers of extra cloth and furs, she was still wearing the vivid red clothing of her native land, and seeing its name scrawled on a piece of parchment made her desire to be home and her resentment of the place she now resided even fiercer.


Once free from the gauntlet of people swarming the heart of the camp, the walk passed quickly and Neira reached Lenia’s tent without incident. She hesitated outside the entrance, not wanting to intrude unannounced and see something she was not meant to. Since fabric does not lend well to knocking, she indicated her presence verbally. “I am here… Neira.” She drew the door aside and peered in to the tent. Seeing Lenia seated at the table, she assessed that the work had begun and it was alright to enter. She crossed the tent with careful steps respecting the area belonging to the one she served under. Stopping next to the table she looked over the small map. “Time for our next move, is it?”


Rather enamored with her imaginings of what it would be like to be back home; bathhouses, warm weather, having several servants, and people who could actually read, Lenia was unaware of her second's presence until she spoke from right behind her. Recoiling her hand from the map and turning her body just enough to see who it was that had stormed their way into her daydreams, she took a moment to recover and let her pulse calm itself. After the momentary and awkward second passed, she turned her attention back to the map and rested her elbows on the ragged wood of the table. "The time for our next move was days ago, now we must pack up camp immediately and make our way to one of the borders." Placing her finger on her preferred destination she turned her gaze slightly so as to look upon her native advisor. "I plan to head south; winter is coming and I lack a savage's tolerance of the cold."


“Mm…” Fixing her eyes on the point Lenia had selected on the simple map, images of the area in question began to surface in Neira’s mind. She scanned the paper trails between the suggested destination and their current position. Though trying to remember a great many of the thoughts stored in her mind felt like trying to grab snowflakes with warm hands, something about spatial memory made it return to her clearer than anything else. She felt that she could travel almost anywhere in the kingdom just by closing her eyes, though the images she saw was not always accurate down to the detail, as evidence in minor changes to the lands they had traversed thus far in the rebellion. After pouring over her memory for a moment she opened her eyes. “Yes, that is a good plan.” She hovered a finger over the map, highlighting an area just off where Lenia had selected. “There is a warm wind that blows in from the south over the border just here. The area has good visibility. There are some fairly large bugs – but they are high in protein.” She moved her finger to a portion between the two places. “There are some unmarked swamps here. Not too serious, but you may lose a boot or two if you’re not cautious.” She retracted her hand and brought it to her mouth, making sure she had not left out anything of importance.


The lack of a proper topographer and the confidence that a barbarian could even create an accurate map had left the rebellion with a rather uninformative map. While cities and major geographical locations were noted, the knowledge that Neira had just provided with her chief would likely only be found by associating with those Lenia would prefer not to associate with. Regardless of their poor map status, it was good to know that her preferred location had some actual value besides being near the border and being somewhat warmer, evidenced by the nodding of her head whenever a new detail had been described. Finally, after Neira had withdrawn her hand from the map, Lenia placed her hands upon the edge of the table and, using the leverage provided by them, stood with enough force to send the poor makeshift seat tumbling back. Admittedly, the back of her calf, which had been the body part to strike her former seat, was rather sore from the unexpected impact of her attempt at being dramatic. After a brief and hopefully unnoticed contortion of her face in response to the pain, she regained her complete composure and addressed her second. "Then it is decided that we make for the southern borders. If the tyrant manages to stumble upon us, we will cross the border and hope he is fool enough to follow."


Neira watched the stool as it tumbled backwards and rolled to a stop an admirable distance away. A subtle smile emerged in response to her commander’s enthusiasm, and she turned her eyes back to address Lenia. “Yes, we can hope,” she said in approval. She wondered briefly what was over the border that could assist them. If there was more men there why not just recruit them to this side? The thoughts melted away with the simple trust that Lenia knew what was best. Believing that there was not any further help that she could offer, she took a step towards the door. “I’ll go and assist the preparations – if there is nothing else you need.”


With important terrain and locations now added to the makeshift map through an incomprehensible shorthand of scribbles, everything that required Neira's presence had been completed. Seemingly aware of this, Neira had began making her way towards the exit while the symbols were added to the parchment. Lenia, with the last drops of ink scattered onto the map, glanced toward her advisor as she left. "That will be all." Flavinius would likely be bringing the sickly prince to her ten soon and it would be very awkward to have a native witness any of the scenarios she had planned for their meeting.

Returning her gaze to her newly altered work to plan out an actual path to travel on, she uttered a slight reminder. "Next time, Neira, bathe before you come to my tent. It's been a week and you still smell like a corpse."


A moment of silence passed. Neira took a small whiff of the air around her but could perceive nothing. Not that her sense of smell had been all that reliable as of late. “Yes… o-of course.” A somewhat awkward bow of the head was offered before she turned and she left Lenia to her work. As she watched the dirt pass under her feet, he fingers grazed over the wound on her arm. She had bathed, quite thoroughly at that. The wound the only thing she could think to blame for the scent arising. A soft sigh left her lips as she came to terms with the idea that she could not evade medical attention for much longer.

"Um." Rae turned to face Kri, waiting for her to continue. "It's kind of a long story. When I was little, I used to have these really horrible nightmares." Hm, nightmares? Rae used to have them as a little girl; her father would hold her and whisper assurances in his gruff voice until she fell asleep again. Her heart ached at the thought of him.

"And I was convinced that these nightmares were coming true." Rae quickly stopped thinking of her father - she would hate to cry in front of these people. "And everyone would tell me they were just dreams. That they couldn't possibly come true. But when I got older, they got worse. And everything that happened in my nightmares came true. And now..."

Dark eyebrows nearly reached Rae's hairline at this. Her nightmares came true? "Now they're the worst they've ever been. So, as a healer... I was hoping you could help me. But if you can't..." Thoughts swarmed through the young healer's mind, trying to fully understand what Kri just told her, and how she was supposed to help.

"I..." Curses bubbled in her throat as she realized exactly how limited she was as a healer. Her studies and the minimal teaching she'd been able to gather had covered so little! She understood next to nothing about the brain, and was unable to heal anything that involved it. And were dreams not in the mind? "I don't know if I can help you; I don't have extensive study on the mind. However, I can try. Exactly how long has this been going on?"

Kri had to think about the answer to the healer's question for a moment. How long HAD the nightmares been happening? "Well," she began, tentatively, "I guess I've had them almost forever." She paused again, trying to think of what else to say, tring her best to be specific. "They got really bad right after we rescued the prince and his cousin."

She started to nervously play with a strand of loose hair that had escaped from her braid, deciding to finally meet the healer's eyes. It suddenly seemed very clear to her that she could trust Rae. There was something about her that was just very... Reliable. Kri could not remember the last time she had made the conscious decision to trust someone. She carefully unknotted her fingers from her hair. And looked At Rae's face for the first time in the entirety of their conversation, "Care to tell me what you think?"

"They've been going on forever..." Rae repeated under her breath, turning her eyes to the fire. It must be some sort of ability or curse or something then, if there had never been a time when she didn't have them. But what? The healer had never heard of anything like it.

"I think this is very... interesting." Rae replied slowly as she searched for the right words. "I've never heard of anything like it, but if it is as bad as you say, I will do my best to help. What sort of things do you dream about?"

Kri thought for a few seconds. "Well," she began, thoughtfully, "I guess they're all kind of similar, in that they're all about death. They always have been. Sometimes, I'll meet a person, or walk by them in the street, and dream about their imminent death that night. Though, usually, the nightmares are about this war."

She flashed back to her dream from the night before, with the fire and the screaming, and the name, which still felt as if it was being breathed into her ear, as if by some unseen ghost, or by the wind, which was gently snaking its way around the fire. "They're pretty vague, as far as I can tell. I can't usually make sense of them until whatever they're predicting happens."

She remembered the soothsayer her birth mother had once taken her to, the one who sat in a cave several miles from her village, and breathed in the smoke from a burning pile of sage, claiming it 'cleared his sight'. She remembered him cupping her face in his withered hands, and whispering to her what the dreams were, what her ancestors had called the ability to have such dreams. She recalled how her mother had not taken a word he said seriously, and encouraged her to do the same. "The ancient wood elves," Kri continued, "Had a name for it. Translated from Elvish, it's along the lines of 'the gift of prophecy'." She sighed. "But it's really just a pain. I'm not really sleeping at all anymore." She gestured to the circles beneath her eyes, yawning slightly.

Rae looked around for a moment, but no one was paying any attention to them. "You foresee people's deaths?" Her voice was hardly above a whisper as her mind churned through all the information it was gaining; trying to make sense of it. "Well, if you really have this 'gift of prophecy', I'm afraid there isn't much I can do. It's an ability."

She continued quickly, not wanting to let Kri down. "However, I might be able to help with your sleeping. I know a lot about plants and herbs and their medicinal qualities. I can make you something that will put you in a deep sleep for several hours. People don't usually dream when put in this deep sleep, but I'm not sure how these dreams of yours work. It's worth a shot, though. Right?"

Kri smiled a little at how much the healer actually wanted to help. Other healers might have just shrugged off a problem they couldn't deal with, but Rae's persistence in assisting her was kinder than anything she had expected. "Any assistance would be welcome." She wondered, for the briefest of moments, if this was what she remembered as friendship. It was, she decided, something of the sort. "Something to help me sleep would be great." She clarified.

Rae smiled in response, giving Kri's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I think we'll be breaking camp today, but I'll make sure I make you some once we settle down for the night."

Kri allowed herself to smile for real, thanking Rae, and stood, wondering if perhaps there was an egg or two left, as her appetite had returned in just a few moments without food.

(Unneeded post.)

(You wait ages for Vit to post and then three posts come at once.)

The horses bobbed over the rocks on their approached towards camp at a steady pace, undaunted by the uneven state of the terrain. They were beasts from the northern provinces, stocky and inelegant with an unwelcome tendency to bite, but they were very well suited to the difficult progress in the mountains. In order to make the camp more accessible, one would have to make it more accessible to attackers.

Perhaps there was a slight irony there, considering whom the men on the horses were bringing.

The two, dressed in leather armour and armed, were looking much the worse for wear from whatever they had encountered out in the wild. With clothing torn and cuts and bruises about them, and the remnants of the dark, viscous substance that stood for blood in some of the more decomposed dead creatures still clinging in a stubborn fashion to their weaponry. Noticeable to those who had seen them ride out before dawn, one of their number was missing...though possibly more immediately visible was the other individual with them who had not been present when they left.

They were being transported in a less than dignified fashion, ankles and wrists bound tightly with chord and bound to the back portion of one of the saddles they were slung across it on their front like fallen game, though the frayed black fabric fluttering in the breeze was enough to indicated a human, even if the initial appearance might suggest something less.

The figure was female, though lacking in feminine curves, to the point that her longer, untidy hair and the skirt-like arrangement of her clothes was the best indication. She was very thin, her cheekbones prominent and rather hollow. Malnutrition was not completely unheard of among the poor, particularly vagrant types...but other characteristics suggested that this appearance was not the result of want. Her skin was pale, unnaturally so, white as bleached bone, like the creatures that dwelled in the deepest caves and never saw the sun. While she appeared to be little older than her early twenties, her hair had begun to whiten at its roots. Her forearms, the sleeves pulled back in order to bind them, were littered with jagged, partially-healed scarring.

The clothing, black and silver, and the ash smeared around her eyes sealed any suspicion that this frailty was not self-inflicted. It was the toll of necromancy, the art that had been forbidden for many years in Magna. Why an individual would cultivate such a power, one that fed upon the vitality of its user, was a mystery to many, but judging upon the identity of the young woman, known well enough among the rebels, that she would not be able to spread much light upon it. All knew what drove Spectre to do what she did. Her life was ruled by a fanatical devotion. An obsession. Necromancy was merely a tool for pursuing that.