Nevae
❄ ❄ ❄

The reply in such a manner that was only fitting to one as cabalistic as he. While slender eyebrow itched to arch in question, porcelain façade remained unmoving. Nevae’s face was always the careful courtier’s mask, un-hinting at any such thoughts that might have brewed beneath and instead maintaining an ever-present pleasant demeanor. The creature, as she was unsure what race he was in particular, turned attentions to her in murmured greeting. While no words replied from bowed lips, a small curtsey was given for show. Head bent in small acknowledgement for the compliment, silence given to his followed words.

Interest piqued as conversation turned to duty. Without waiting for task the word ‘gypsy’ inspired thoughts of coin, full knowledge known of their hording. Corner of rouge lips tugged, threating a wider smile, at the possibilities. It appeared that the lythari was giving her opportunity to kill three birds with one stone: paid task, reward for said task and spreading the fear word of Auril, which was reward in it’s own. How gracious. And if wine was shared perhaps a bed might be as well, a welcomed idea to pass the time.

Pale vision followed gesture, eyes leading to the paladin. Employer named said woman lead and Nevae quietly nodded her understanding. Vision brightened with minor amusement as she watched the warrior woman stiffen at mention of less than favourable memories; a result no doubt intended from the shaded man. The warning of heeding was not lost on the priestess, and she would obey. Thoughts of abeyance of pay were less than acceptable in the heart of one who desire so much more. It was in quiet contemplation that she wondered why the crow-like fiend held so much interest in the statuesque woman, though the curiosity was uncharacteristic and short lived.

And then he was gone.

Person turned, attention given to the new person in charge. All business, no pleasure… Nevae mused, listening as Caleb addressed them. Breakfast concluded the slender Illuskin again thanked Veilyn for the morning snack before retreating to her empty tent. Her trinkets of high importance were stashed about her person, most of which were worn. Weapons were strapped in place, a mace at her side and dagger in her new boot. Shield, pretty and new, was hoisted to back. With tent and bedroll tied together the young priestess returned to place them in the bag of holding.

”Ready on your word.” The statement gave notice that she was set to leave at moment’s notice as well as an agreement to follow the woman as stand-in leader for their shadowy employer. Thoughts drifted to the gypsies and the voyage ahead, bring yet another smile to pretty face. Such wondering was cut short as attention drew to the wood elf who spoke, condescending attitude to materialistic possessions. Whether intended or not it was directed at Nevae, she who held all things of monetary value dear. Words, less than kind, were bit back. Auril's wrath would meet the elf at a time when her job wasn't on the line.

-=Araina=-

The chatter of the group amused the druidess, even causing the faintest flicker of a smile to ghost her lips before she caught herself. Perhaps other than the stoic Caleb and the silent Syranni, she could peg each and every one of her companions personalities simply from their idle chatter or lingering gazes, their facial twitches and their habitual quirks.

If anyone had tried to read Araina in the same way though, they would most likely come up empty handed. As the rest spoke amongst themselves, she stood still amongst the tree line and even as all eyes turned to their employer, the elusive and enigmatic Zedek, the druid still kept the side of her lean frame pressed lightly against the bark.

It was only after he had laid down his plans for the group that she drew in a subtle yet quickened breath. We’re going to a city…. Her eyes narrowed at the thought before settling into a blank stare as she focused on their intrepid leader, the Paladin, instead.

One last figure came from their tent towards the campfire as the humans began to gather their accoutrements. Balthazar, as he called himself, caused the fine hairs upon her arms and the back of her neck to rise. Though all humans seemed to be an affront against nature, this shadowy figure seemed even more so though she couldn’t quite peg down the reasoning.

Perhaps it was the subtle facial expressions that crossed his countenance even when there was no one speaking to him. Perhaps he was simply an imaginative soul who played out scenarios in his head while keeping his words to his self. Still, at least someone that was obviously unsettled was easier to plan around than those that pretended neutrality while hiding evil intent.

The druidess shook her head once, long flame-like locks tousling gently about her lithe form as she wandered towards Syranni and her steed. Laying a calm hand upon the horses flank to let it know that she approached from behind, she skimmed her hand over the rest of its coat until she was about to touch the ranger’s leg then withdrew her hand to her side once more. Looking up to the ranger, she smiled truly and inclined her head towards the girl. “Our time in the forest grows to a close.” She voiced her thoughts, to no one in particular yet she knew that the other woodland elf felt the same. “Let us hope that we do not accidentally kill someone in this human city.” As she turned to await Caleb’s lead, she planted her staff firmly into the ground beside her.

Veilyn enjoyed playing this game with the young Nevae. It was like playful fencing, a touch here, a touch there. The words were soft but they hid a sharp meaning. Currently, the rogue liked to think he was winning, however arbitrary the lead might have been, but the gods themselves likely had not a inkling of what Nevae was really after. She wasn't that foolish that she'd be after love, Veilyn knew that much, and that was all that mattered for now.

Zaccheus announced to the group their next destination, the city of Baldur's Gate, and their mission thereto. It was simple, plebeian in comparison to what Veilyn had past experienced and expected from the enigmatic leader, but he supposed that every adventure started somewhere, often with giant rats or, in this case, bandits. Perhaps he would lighten the load of the travelers, so that in the future, they would not be so burdened with wealth that attracted those who wished them harm. After all, he was a gentleman.

The adagial "floor" fell then into the possession of the paladin as Zaccheus proclaimed her their captain and de facto leader. She offered the party the use of her bag of holding to carry their things, and was quick to assert that Zaccheus had given them more than enough time to reach the capital. Veilyn did not bother to hand over his reverie mat, as it did not burden him overmuch, and the burden it did present was useful in keeping him fit. As a matter of fact, Veilyn brought nothing but what he saw practical and could fit in his pack. He had several stashes in the capital should he need anything, so he did not worry. Content with travelling as he was, he stood back and observed the rest of the party.

The first to speak up was Syranni, the wood elven ranger. Veilyn's suspicions that she was the kind of surface elf that killed people for trouncing on the flowers that grew in her precious little forest were confirmed when she spoke about not needing to bring anything. Of course, Veilyn carried not much but items of practicality, but he did not brag about it as if it were some kind of contest and the one who relies on material things the least would win some sort of prize. Pride is just as terrible a sin as greed. It's as if the girl cared more about other's perception of her regard for nature than her actual regard. Veilyn's distaste only increased at the sight of her horse, seemingly the only one in the group.

It would seem that you rely on nature even more than yourself. Veilyn muttered under his breath, though it was likely that Nevae had overheard due to her proximity. He decided not to waste any more thoughts on the ranger, and turned his attention to Balthazar. Veilyn hadn't yet formed an opinion on the man, but it was clear that he was not right in the head. He currently observed the man as he arrived, quiet, and seemingly lost in his own thoughts. The one time that Veilyn had interacted with him at length revealed that he was somewhat absent minded. In fact, he seemed like a kid, and it made Veilyn wonder why Zaccheus brought him on. The man had his own motives, and that's all Veilyn had to say about that.

The time to depart seemed to near, and in case Caleb did not pick up that he too was ready, he spoke up. "I'll follow you to the ends of the earth, my lady Beth-Dagon," He bowed comically low and gave her a a playful, mocking smile, and then finished, "If you'll have me, that is."

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

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

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

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

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

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

-The night before


♫
No one doubts the exarch of Tempus
Whose dogma has yet to forsake us.
Remember my friends, when the troops are led,
The Red Knight is always, three steps ahead.
♫

Before Johnathan could bow, his audience stood up and shook the ground with their stomps. Their hands were endlessly clashing with an applause that was surreptitiously asking for another tale by boosting the bard’s ego and egging him for more.

Johnathan knew this trick well and occasionally deluded his audience by appearing to be touched by their applause and giving them another tale. But tonight he was tired and had to travel to Baldur’s Gate in a few hours to serve as a replacement in a mission. He raised his instrument to the audience of Tethyr and took a bow, his silent response to their request for more. When they calmed, Johnathan spoke

“Happy birthday princess Zandra. And may your life be filled with many more.” Johnathan’s deep, musical voice echoed in the hall, easily reaching the princess, sitting on a throne-like chair in the far back. The princess was still young and easily excitable, and had a small group of her female peers seated next to her. Johnathan made it a point to watch her intently with his eyes until her pale cheeks reddened in a blush under his seemingly passionate stare. His serious face lifted with a smile, directed at her and left his face when he broke eye contact, so everyone else could see that the smile was only for the princess. That motion would stir gossip for the people of Tethyr, and be awarded plenty of giggles from the princess’s entourage.

With that, he left the stage, his violin being carefully placed in its makeshift holster on his back, where his quiver would normally be. He was greeted by blue eyes, of similar size but more intensity than his own. “Johnathan. I do wish you would stare at me like that. I am your mentee.” The woman hissed, giving Johnathan a jealous frown and lowering her steel blue eyes.

“Allora, you know that no matter how many other women come into my life, you are still the-“ Johnathan was joined by Allora, who rolled her eyes as they both recited his famous line given to her. “-apple of my eye.” “Yes, yes Johnathan. Sing me a song I haven’t heard before.” Johnathan wasn’t offended by his mentee’s unrefined remarks, after 20 years, he was used to it. Even when she was a child, Allora was very possessive and hated seeing Johnathan with another being, be it man or woman. Johnathan found this both off-putting and complimenting, not letting her jealousy stop his flirting and traveling nor letting her jealousy influence his feelings for her.

Johnathan walked alongside Allora as she joined their arms in their leisurely stroll to their home. While listening to her talk of her practicing for the day, Johnathan smiled at familiar faces in the road, who also receiving a warning glare from Allora. “Are you still seeing that boy, Allora?” Johnathan hummed, interrupting Allora and also shocking her. “What boy?” Allora asked, confused. Not confused at his question, but confused on how Johnathan found out about her secret relationship with Caine, a boy she met after one of her performances.

An hour and several arguments over jealousy and fairness later, the siblings were inside their family mansion, walking up the stairs to their rooms. “Allora I just do not see how I cannot get to have any friends, but you can have a boyfriend. You are not being fair to me. “Johnathan said calmly, though under his stone expression, he was actually very upset. This argument has been going on for years and Allora always ended it on a sour note. “It’s not fair to me! I just want to spend some time with my older brother and mentor, and all you can do is think about every pair of legs that walks by you, Johnathan! You don’t love me!” Allora yelled, storming into her room in front of the stairway and slamming it shut. “That is not true!” Johnathan raised his voice while going into the room right next to hers. He did not slam it shut, but wanted to.
After a few minutes of being angry, Johnathan felt his mood lighten. He was never one to be sad or angry for long, he sung better when he was happy, and he always made the effort to be happy.

He picked up his violin and started to play very close to his eastern wall, the wall shared with his sister. Every member of the Illumination family was a lover of music, and the family’s crest had a lyre for their symbol. The Illumination blood runs deep and produced countless bards in their centuries, many famous. The blood couldn’t be thicker for Allora. Nothing, and absolutely nothing can alter her mood so quickly, other than the strings of an instrument. Within minutes of hearing him play, Allora joined him with her lyre, humming a little as the duo played.

♫
Allora, you are heaven’s melody.
And your notes play the tragedy of my soul.
I’ve crossed through the garden of beauty,
And loving you is my toll.
If we were not bound by blood
Would you love me?
If I worshipped you and took your hand,
Would you marry me?”
♫

Johnathan ended his part, dragging his last note for emphasis. Allora loved Johnathan’s nocturnes, and he exploited that whenever they argued. He quieted his instrument to better hear Allora, as he always indulged in her singing. Her voice was suited to opera and she was a prodigy of the musical mastery. He mentored her as best as he could, but knew that she would soon surpass him and become a legend. Even their father, a stone critic of his children, let her sing without interruption, only correcting her missed notes after her songs were over.

♫
Johnathan, Johnathan
Have your words won me over so soon?
Surely your love is but a passing storm,
Dynamic yet temporary.
I know you’ll leave this maiden forlorn
But my heart says “Quite the contrary!”
You are filled with many things, but not surprises.
You will love me or leave me when the sun rises.
♫

Allora ended her note perfectly and stopped playing her lyre. Johnathan managed a quick “I love you.” before he fell asleep. His tired body with Allora’s melodies was too much to resist.

In the early morning, long before the sun came up, Johnathan awoke. He freshened himself up and packed his shortbow, Angeline, and his quiver filled with steel arrows. He needed little else for the mission, and if he did it would be easily acquired. He took ten minutes to write a farewell letter to Allora and slid it under her door before he went into the family stable.


-Currently
"So Cap, when we be off?" Johnathan heard from the right of his horse. He directed it towards the voice and approached easily, his arms raised to show he had no weapons. He approached a group of people coming in various tones and background. He already knew by the time this mission would be over, he would have many stories to make into musical tales.

“When you have your bard, maybe?” Johnathan exited from some bushes and nodded to the group. He jumped off his horse and took out his violin from the pouch on the steed’s side. With a whistle, the horse left and returned back to the Illumination mansion, knowing its way without the lead of a rider.

Johnathan stared at the woman who was presumably Caleb Beth-Dagon. Though the upcoming song was for the group, Johnathan stood and played in front of his leader.

♫
Lucien is no longer your bard
But I assure you I am just as well
I am a master of many instruments and tales.
Behold your bard is Johnathan of the illumination!
And none will serve you with a greater passion than I.
♫

Which is the truth, many bards are special for something about their tales, whether it be their voice, their instrument, or their dance, and for Johnathan it was a combination of his voice and violin, he was filled with passion and vigor. He sung his tales standing straight, he never danced and never found the desire to; he believed it took the seriousness from his tales.
“But I would prefer to just be called Johnathan, as my title is too wordy for casual conversation.”

Nevae
❄ ❄ ❄

The slim, fae-like woman exercised a patience that did not come naturally to her. Her duties concluded and allegiance pledged, something momentary at best, Nevae waited for the other sellswords to fall in line. It was in this lull between tasks that moments awarded opportunity to better observe her travelling party. Varied was the most polite word thought of to describe the motley bunch, unsurprised by fact that only their benefactor linked them to one another. Coin was more than enough to sway the priestess’s demeanor to pleasantries, but for others she was not so sure.

Continued racial demarcates was already dividing loyalties. While she had no particular love for the human city, as it had been so delicately described, the description of such begged speaker to be ostracized. Truth be told, the Frosttouched femme was not heartbroken at the thought of being at odds with the flora-esque Elvens. Auril did not discriminate her followers, nor whom her wrath could befall, and Nevae had committed life long goal to mirror her. In time, if The Frostmaiden was kind, a snow storm would award ample opportunity to correct the calumnious attitude. Smile widened a little in pleasure at thought.

“Perhaps the monk could teach you meditation, or I could show you a prayer or two. It does wonders for those with no self-restraint. We wouldn’t want any accidents to disrupt the Crowcatcher’s plans.” Words said in earnest, a helpful suggestion to the Druidess. Blue eyes did not deceive careful mask.

Icy vision, in hue not emotion, slid from fire-coloured tresses to the silent figure in their midsts; the assassin. Eyes swept across flickering countenance reminiscent of a man deep in though. Such distinct change reminded her of one deep in thought, or arguing over ones own morality. Dilemma was constantly scrawled across quiet features, an enigmatic and disturbing thought all the same. A puzzle to be solve, for sure… she had yet decided the man’s usefulness to her own private cause.

It was low words, muttered beneath breath and faintly, that draw steady gaze back to the Drow. Attentions had been sifted in time to watch playful bow and mocking smile match with honey-slicked words. While eyes gleamed a little brighter with amusement, her own countenance didn’t shift; the rogue was an endless source of entertainment. While she trusted the elf not, she quickly dubbed him the most likeable of the bunch.

Irony then beset conversations. The fighter teased her favourited drow despite own flattery littering his words. Had he not just called her ‘love’? Amusement deepened. Shallow eyes once-over’d the gruff fighter, marking with ease each muscle clearly define and putting them to use in mind with less than wholesome thoughts. There was another man to be used towards her cause, perhaps. He was quick to defend their human race, throwing like-kind insult towards the forest elves, a man to her own heart. His question, vocalized, was on Nevae’s mind too. Gaze skipped to designated Captain, eager to hear response.

Answer, however, was cut short by timely entrance. A man, before unseen by slender cleric, stood before Caleb. Introduction was sent forth in form of song and violin, announcing himself bard before all. Ah, the replacement has arrived. Nevae had great fondness for music. Her order, the priestesses of Auril, sang songs of praise and worship constantly, though it seemed inappropriate with the lack of cold air at present. Soon, when winters came, she would sing again. Still, a chill air was about and perhaps a praise or two would pass time in travel…

Caleb spoke, departure announced and venture set forth. She moved, disappearing into the tress. Nevae looked to Veilyn and Caine who stood beside her, a small curtsey-as best as could be done with shining and heavy shield on back- given to her comrades. “Gentlemen,” and the term was used loosely to both, “Shall we?”

Thwack! shot the longbow, the arrow whizzing through the air, and with a Thump!, it hit a tree.

“I swear I’ll…” Thwack! Thump! “….burn you if you get me lost again like this.”

The Sorcerer stood with his bow, another arrow pulled from his quiver and poised at the ready. The man wasn’t very tall; in fact, he was just about average height. His build was also average, though it was obvious that whatever did not make him skinny sure wasn’t muscle. Any other features that the man had were obscured by his long blue robes, which were trimmed by various interweaving designs. The robes seemed a little long for him, as its hem glided along the floor with each step. Strangely enough, it was not torn in any way, as one would expect something dangling so precariously on the floor. With that realization in mind, one would naturally look towards the rest of the robe for any sign of wear-and-tear, but alas! to no avail!

Thwack! Thump! Another shaft flew. By this time the Sorcerer had reached the first arrow he had let fly, which was stuck in a large ash tree. He pulled it out and stuck it back into his quiver. From the disarray of arrows in the surrounding woodland, one would assume that either this man was a terrible yeoman, not worthy of even holding the bow in his hand, or he simply did not aim.

“We’ve been here before, damn it! This tree is already marked by your kiss! I swear I’ll burn you….”

He sheathed the bow behind his back and went about collecting the loose arrows scattered about the forest. Reaching the last one, his gaze drifted upwards towards the smoke of a fire. “I’ll be damned…” He swore, sporting a mischievous grin which exemplified his large canines.


“You were right after a-” He said, in a grateful tone, which was cut off by a more angered one, “You bitch! Why’d I go in a circle then?”

As there was no one around to hear him, silence was his reply. He trudged along groggily, mumbling every so often. Behind him the sun was just rising, and he sighed loudly. What started as a short trip to satisfy certain bodily needs turned into a whole night of running about in confusion. Remarkably he had been going in circles the entire time, swearing loudly.

“I hate you…” he mumbled as he stepped within the borders of the camp.

---

The sight he saw there did him no good, either. He saw the black head of their conniving leader, and it made him shiver. That figure came from the shadowy reaches of Talos-knows-what, and was addressing the party, excluding our Sorcerer of course. He was saying something, though few words truly passed into the magician’s ear. The Crowcatcher, as the leader was known, was giving orders pertaining to some caravan, which was ambushed by bandits and needed unburdening of its children… or something. Our sorcerer also noted that the paladin, of all people, was to be their leader.

In a flash of smoke, as it was, Crow disappeared, and the sorcerer could be seen stumbling behind him.

“I missed the orders because of you,” he said aside. “I swear I’ll burn you, or my name isn’t Ari-Logan Askew!”

When the Ocarina blows away the shadows,
Revealed is the plague,
When the Sands of time bury others,
Revealed are the stakes.

Striketh the paper, blood,
A pledge beyond death
Nothing is true,
Everything is permitted.

---

I see you still remember it.
Brother Remi, assassins never forget, come even death.
Why did you, then, leave?
I did something no man should, something I knew I would regret.

---

One leg fell before the other, a sign that the entourage was ready to set sail. Behind the rest, walked Balthazar. He loved the serene breeze of the forest. Even if the chilling wind tried desperately to stake him, it was the howling fireballs that ran amok in the cities which he hated. When was naught but a milk drinking baby in a whore's arms, he imagined the forest around them was alive. It hid them from the demons, from the burning torches of the villagers.

Silence filled the air, if only for a fleeting moment. Each adventurer and barnstormer here walked their own path, had their own goals, their own means, their own lies. Yet, for the next few moons, he would have to consider each one his compatriot. Perhaps, even save them. No, he would just try. Any more than that would just be a waste of his time.

Rustling of leaves, he heard. A rabbit thrashed through the fallen dry leaves in an attempt to evade something. For a few seconds he studied the noise. The commotion caused by the predator was not something a fox would make, a fox was too big to go through those bushes, especially with the razor sharp thorns. A snake? No, a snake would not bother chasing after a prey, stand and deliver its motto.

Is violence the only thought in your mind?

The agitated bush moved ever so slightly, and through the gap saw Balthazar the predator. It was just another rabbit, albeit a larger one. This one's fur was darker, with spots. More importantly, this one looked succulent. Balthazar's maw grumbled, cursing Balthazar for missing breakfast. Balthazar wondered what the kid would allege when Balthazar would let him out of his mind's cage. Some where along the lines of, "You meanie," he was sure.

Realizing the world would not stop for him as he pondered what one part of his brain would say to the other, Balthazar moved on. He was slacking behind, more than he wished for. He may have the skills to know if a bear was around, it was not like he could stop the bear. The bear would still crush Balthazar's weak little spine and tear off his head, leaving behind only the blood coagulated on the leaves as proof. Perhaps, someone would remember him.

Unlikely someone would remember a son of a whore.
Who cares what my mother was? The world will know of my legacy!
The greatest legacy assassins can have is no one remembering them.
What nonsense! I wanna be as great as El Dor!
If people knew he was an assassin, he was not very great at his job.
You've gone senile. People are afraid of him.
People are more afraid of the dark.

It was a pointless battle, one fought against insurmountable odds with the help of fucking nothing. It was like the time in the forest when he and his mother were being chased, again, by torches, years after he was born out of her foolish womb. He should have ran, for she was only a whore. Yet, he tried to save her, once. She was sent to the dungeon, where she had no doubt been passed around like a dog, like the man, whose servant Balthazar was forced to become, said. Even if, in the end, he broke free from the shackles, he was still haunted by her.

Just before he could break down into tears begging Shar to circumcise that memory out of his mind, his eyes closed, reacting to a sudden increase in light. They had reached near the edge of the forest. Sometime later they would eating nice food in a nice shade. If only the gypsies had roasted lamb...

The night air felt crisp around Uglúk's bare buttocks and his overgrown cock which was lightly swollen. It could have been the Clerics's blaring knee to his groin earlier that evening. Then again could have just been the feel of her itself. So nice and taut. And those buttocks? Yes, it was definitively worth the sharp jabbing pain then, and the yearning to be between her warm thighs now. It gave him a feel of those sinuous legs, right? That smooth, soft skin almost creamy in texture just above her knee as it rose to meet his loosely hanging self beneath his animal hide 'kilt'.

Damn were they solid!

Although the pain was certainly real enough, even HE would think twice about rubbing her ass like it belonged to him in the first place. Perhaps it should...Hmmmm. The Orc was getting side tracked from his purpose. He was hunting. Naked as was his tribe’s traditional rights. Like Druids and Rangers, the Elk tribe was far removed from the bustle of the city. They were nature driven folks, although guided by the Foehammer, Lord of Battles--Tempus. They were war-like and quite savage. Nevertheless, while they took from their indigenous enemies; Orcs, other tribes and goblin-kind they could be civilized enough to enter cities and towns. Mainly to sell their wares.

Uglúk's uncanny sense of smell, and his incredible ability to see in utter darkness both inherited traits of his Orcish father who--after he had raped his Uthgardtian mother in a plunder of one of their villages along the Desserrin River, proved invaluable. He could hunt and track game for miles. With his naked body, he carried a spear, not his infamous long-bearded axe. The slate rock tip, a crude primitive design but nonetheless surprisingly ingenious ploy for an Orc known for his volatile temper, lewdness and lose tongue and little regard for authority.

Perhaps that was why he had been convicted and tried to death. He knew not and cared for as little.

Coated on the edge of the spear, a neurotoxin from a serpent he had snatched up. What he was hunting for the Cleric's approval was quite dangerous. If the playing field wasn't leveled a bit, he would head back with no pelt and plenty of scars to prove he was a worthless shit. He'd show her! He came around the bend slowly stalking his prey. His naked body flexing muscles others only dreamed they had. His biceps were about as large as dwarves’ head and just as stout while his hand could grip a man's skull and him quite still. If not, his thumb might apply pressure and no one but the Orc wanted that.

Before him his prey item: a brown bear. His 'boar' tusks sneered more as his right arm drew back taking with it the spear. The creature would momentarily have no idea what was about to happen. He thrust the spear through the air, lodging it well past the creature's thick hide. I snarled in pain turning to face it, perhaps even remedy it. Seeing the bear try and bite at the heft of the spear, Uglúk himself charged over. He grabbed the shaft and with the shaft driving the spear even further into its innards.

The poison entered the blood stream. Carried towards the heart rather than away--such was the nature of a weapon that 'thrust', 'pierced' or 'stabbed. It created suction with the pressure of the inside cavity. The highly modified saliva of the reptile impacted the bear's coherence as much as the pain. Uglúk had been taught to expect, even garner its effects when used on a creature--or somebody. It warranted an anesthesia like state where struggle was impossible, only inevitability was to ensue.

He couldn't very much say the bear didn't feel it robbing it of its life. That it was painless. But it was easy.
At one point during the bears frenzied growls and his feral grunts, Uglúk placed his bare foot on the creatures hip and snapped the shaft of the weapon making it too short to pull out any longer.

"There! Pull that out you sum bitch! "Uglúk growled and lifted what ordinarily would be a small boulder but in his hands look like just a rock due to their size. Kicking a weakened bear over by forcefully 'snapping' his knee outwardly, the poison also having an effect seizing the bear's muscles involuntarily. Uglúk set to motion, the savage act of smashing the creatures cranial. So lost was he in the violence that it washed him red with blood. His heart was a thunderous one, pounding away with large exhales through his some-what human looking nose in gusts and blasts.

His enormous chest hardly seemed like it were fluctuating at all. Sweat gleaned from his bare naked poise as he tore the head of the spear out. Blood came out in a geyser. A small one but he had severed a major artery that still had pressure built up inside the plexus. The Orc, like his brutish relatives and the savages of the Uthgardt set about the laborious task of cleaning and skinning the animal meticulously. The fiber of flesh and sinew being carved by steady hands--if any one saw how good he was at this it would only promise to prove his intimidation.

By the time he finished, and washed the pelt of blood--it was morning. His Orcish eyes, small but retaining the blue-grey of storm clouds like those of his mother squinted. It wasn't so much the light hurt him in anyway, it was just a nuisance. He ate what he could of the bear, deciding to leave the rest to be carrion and scraps for other wildlife and took the pelt he had sheared off and ambled of towards the group, his nose leading the way. He had hardly missed the crowd--if not for the shrewd woman who teased his thoughts with her supple breasts and taut buttocks--the fighter was surely of the same mind at least when it came concerning battles.

Cain was a stout man--for a human. As stout as any dwarf. He couldn't complain too much...There were...elven folk about. Those scrawny toothed-picked sons of bitches pissed him off. How the hell did they walk on snow anyways? Fucking faeries. They mine as well bee nymphs! He could chuck one if he could catch first. That's another thing. They were sly and arrogant too! Uglúk snarled, walking into camp in the nude showing his well-hung proportions passive-aggressively. About the only thing about the Orc the was the least bit "passive".

Ambling over to the blond seductress, he rolled his enormous shoulder--nearly twice that of Cain's. He wasn't competing in any way, or maybe he was it was hard to tell, he was an Orc of Tempus. He eyed her up and down, making damn sure he knew where her leg was. "There," Uglúk grunted at her, his scarred face in intimidating to any one elses. "That ought to keep you warm till I can." He chuckled, though, with an Orc they looked cocky all the time with their perpetual sneer. His upper body 'rocked' as he laughed before he turned to dawn his own hide armor and lift up an ace that he could uncannily weild with frightful ease. The blade looked bloodstained all the time, and the long-bearded axe head was deliberately chipped as if to take out chunks as it rent flesh.

Veilyn grimaced at Caine's joking punch. It didn't hurt, but it caught him off guard and he stumbled. He let out a quiet, annoyed laugh in response to the man's joke. Then the worst part came. Caine couldn't help himself from belittling Veilyn by resting his elbow on the dark elf's shoulder and leaning on him like an end table. Veilyn clenched his teeth, but did not otherwise respond. Looking back, Veilyn realized that responding in any way would have saved him from his next torture.

The voice was like wind through grass, but it grated on Veilyn like chains in the underdark. Turning, he saw the source, a young human that, in Veilyn's eyes looked no older than nineteen. It was always hard to tell with humans. Before he could quip, the young man started to sing, and through song confirmed that he was to be their replacement bard. He introduced himself, and Veilyn made a mental note of his name, just in case. Veilyn was eager to get moving.

Fortunately, so was Nevae and everyone else it seemed. Caleb was off, and Nevae followed. The rest of the group slowly ground into the march, and new faces joined them, likely replacements. Veilyn made a habit of staying in the middle of large crowds whenever possible, so he positioned himself between Caine and Nevae, the only two he cared much to talk to, if any talking was to be done. The group marched on, and before long they had entered the forest proper.The other elves must feel so at home here.

He would have continued enjoying the privacy of his mind but, like they do with most all things, the Orc returned and interrupted them. Interrupted wasn't quite the right word, actually. Veilyn thought words like "shattered", "destroyed", or "torn asunder" were more befitting. The Orc, who Veilyn remembered as Uglúk the Ugly, sauntered into the bulk of the group, naked despite the cold and showing off his "gift" in a way that made Veilyn wish the underdark had caused Drow to evolve blind. He grunted in distaste and tried to avert his eyes, but such things were hard to avoid, especially when one's peripheral vision is so advanced. The Orc deposited the hide he had been carrying to Nevae as some sort of courting gift. This tactic must be somewhat successful in Orcish culture, so Veilyn decided he'd have to give it a try at some point in the future. Perhaps in less civilized company, though. The Orc grunted out his words like it was difficult, and his voice sounded like to stone blocks rubbing together. His comment was suggestive and straightforward, far from the witty game that Veilyn was used to. He laughed, and relieved Veilyn's eyes by leaving to get dressed, which might have been the nicest thing anyone's ever done for the rogue.

Realizing he'd been holding his breath, he let it out in a sigh and then glanced from Nevae to Caine and back again, shrugged his shoulders, and kept walking.

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

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

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

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

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

-=Araina=-

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

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

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

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

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

Nevae
❄ ❄ ❄

The small crowd dissipated at leisure, splitting off in singles and pairs and disappearing into the trees. Last words had been dismissal, directive given and direction taken. Slender femme had paused for escort, eager for small chatter to help sands of time slip quicker through the glass. The journey would be long, and no doubt arduous, but promise of fortune helped to grease the way. The drow and fighter combination promised amusement in the lull between tasks. Her smile was pleasant as she waited with false patience, first steps falling behind the bulkier of the three and followed lastly by her favourited companion of recent.

Still, scant few steps were taken as cerulean eyes scanned the tree line ahead. Another member was quick to join the entourage. The figure was swaddled in navy robes, hood drawn to shadow face from view save lips which had just finished moving; was the stranger speaking to himself? Curious. Quick glance slipped from shaded head to clothed toe taking in bow and staff, and settled on glistening trinkets. The slim male had an aura of maliciousness, though not quite as prickling as the recently departed Crowcatcher. From staff to herbed-pouch, and less than battle-worthy attire, Nevae would bet her prized possessions on a magic user, though she’d never been a gambling woman. Her hand rose, lips parting to call out in friendly greeting, but movement was stopped short by a rather more drawing entrance.

It was heavy footfall reminiscent of beast that drew gaze from wayward newcomer. To say new sights were revealing was an understatement at best, figure emerging from trees stark naked in all his morning glory. One fell look was taken before blonde locks turned head in feigned modesty, delicate fingers moved from started wave to block view. The feel of thick, coarse fur and a grunting omission was what drew her gaze back to her, a pelt thrust into her arms with lew remarks punctuating the gift and promise. Or was it a threat? Nevae mused it was dependent on point of view. Azure eyes rose to the hulking half-orc, friendly smile quickly vanishing.

Scarred features were quick to return flashes of the evening before, memories she had buried with a good night’s rest. Still, the violation and depravity of action returned to present mind, and while the hard jolt of her knee slamming into the offender’s package brought forth unending satisfaction, her mood was sobered. Ugluk was barbaric at best, a distaste for less than refined manners clear in Nevae’s drastically altered mood. Dainty nose wrinkled and gaze dropped to the twenty-pound skin that had been thrown into her arms unceremoniously, disposition further marred by innuendo. "That ought to keep you warm till I can."

It was only with practiced patience that she managed to swallow the anger growing within her breast. Warm? She was the Frostmaiden’s priestess, devoted to the cold winds, originally born to the nomadic tribes of the northern frosts, she quietly mused, dry irony still not lightening atmosphere.

“Auril granting, I’ll stay cold until the day I die.” She quipped shrewedly.

For a brief moment she examined the gift, an item of much more value to her than the ‘package’ that delivered it. The pelt was untarnished, expertly skinned and cleaned in a skill that seemed out of place when taking in the brutish hand that carved it. The fur would need to be bleached and dyed to colours appropriate to faith, but it would fetch a pretty penny. Perhaps she’d find use for the orc yet. While her dainty frame gave impression of encumbered on view of shield, mace and monstrous skin, she was stronger than she looked and had an arsenal of spells to aid her. Regardless, the idea of traipsing through thicket with arms full was foolish and something less than ladylike.

Vision, once more, shifted to the large half-being (who had just returned, slightly more decent) with expression softening. Eyelashes batted in manipulative exhibition, lips softening to pull at a smile—though whether to lighten mood or in response to Caine’s relief it wasn’t clear. ”Carry this, please? I hardly have the strength to carry around this carcass all day, and the Captain has disappeared with that bag of holding. ”

A pause, before she threw in her own innuendo just for good measure; ”And well, you’re just so large, I’m sure this little thing is nothing for you to throw around.”

Smile pulled a little wider, amused again at the play of words. Head tilted to her companions, urging them to continue. Nevae let the skin fall to the ground before starting after Veilyn again, there was still a ways to go before the caravan and something told her that the walk just got a little longer. The cleric sighed softly to herself.

“Auril granting, I’ll stay cold until the day I die.” He hadn't heard the mischievous gibe she made--he was much too busy with donning layers of hardened leather. If one could read the life of another by simply their scars--the Half-Orc had the most of the bunch. The cruelties of savage repercussion was not his kin folk's alone. No. Mankind played an eager hand in his punishments. Despite what was rebuked about his 'package' it was his chest, arms and back that solicited a life of violence tending towards more self-sustained than garnered by the end of a smaller species than him.

In fact, most of the striations were long, focused and had been deliberately made. Most would be assuming that he was clawed in his tenacity to attack even the most daunting of nature's creature's. They would not expect them to be reminders of slavery. Given his sheer size, of a little over seven feet--even big for a common half-orc--they would not have known he was once quite docile and timid as a giant. But, as all things went the world was kind enough to make him realize that every day spent under the lash of whip was never going to change where he was in life. That things he wanted but was never smart enough to obtain either through knowledge or money-- he would take by force.

This path of self discovery led him to his idol. Tempus. What one could not protect, they had business having it in the first damn place. A rule of thumb he took to heart when he stopped being a pack-mule, a common slave. When he was tired of his fellow clan-mates sneering at him because they were full blooded human and he was only half a human being. This led to a remarkable confrontation, one that would shape the Barbarian's life. Where he stood erect after the lash of a whip and turned around. The reprisal was long awaited, the courage that filled him that day would make him feel all the pain inside over a lifetime amplified by the fact that he would never be 'good enough' for them. He would always be half an Uthgardt.

That day would not be like any other. They would know what an Uthgardt could do, even if he was only half. He killed his oppressor, yanked the whip that had so long been the bane of his own existence. Living each day scared of being struck. Living each day where his purpose and his only reward was not to be struck by it. When he felt the bones of the man's face breaking under the might of his own two hands, the fellow Uthgardt's screams he could not hearken for they were distant sounds, babbles of a brook compared to the raging of a river inside him. When all was said and done, blood had washed over him as though baptized by his Lord, Tempus.

When they demanded a trial by combat, customary for every Uthgardt--except him. The only reason he got it was the offended wanted it blood, his blood. They would not give him a weapon. So when the trial began, he tore the holy symbol of the Uthgardt out of the tree stump after a brief prayer to the deity, a feat that no one had been able to do prior. Heralded as Tempus's own axe. The Uthgardt had never seen the weapon,a fearsome notched axe in combat so they were ignorant to the fact that it ad an adamatine head. The first blow was all that was needed as it thwarted his challenger by splitting him in twain like a log.

The people were shocked and outraged. A murderer was to decisively win a battle? Was to live among them as equals? They called the axe enchanted, said it must have been tampered with the night before. How else would the savage know it would slay a brave warrior, one of their finest? Needless to say, he was exiled. Not for supposedly killing a man in a fit of rage or slaying their finest champion--no, he was banished because they believed him to be a liar and a cheat.

”Carry this, please? I hardly have the strength to carry around this carcass all day, and the Captain has disappeared with that bag of holding. ”
Of course, she was playing the damsel in distress. Yet, she was...pretty. Uglúk was fascinated by most of the more human females--the elves...they just seemed too frail. He was actually afraid that if he smacked one on the ass, it would break His strength disconcerting? Hah. The paladin too had caught his eye, he was ever so curious about her. Her rigidity of her faith was what was so profound about her. Most would have probably pointed out that she was probably as tall as a man--maybe even as stout. But that was not what Uglúk saw. He didn't even really consider her physical traits--her hair maybe, but that was really it. He was entranced by her despite her moral uprising.

The cleric? She was easy. Uglúk often thought if he lit a fire up under her ass she'd dance. She was so...cold though. ”And well, you’re just so large, I’m sure this little thing is nothing for you to throw around.” That was a nice touch. He thought that since she did go the extra mile, he could too. Granted, if she wanted anything else, she would have to extremely enticing. Firsts gifts were always free. " Yeah, yeah. " The Orc grunted, his nose not quite like everyone elses it was inset rather that protruding. With that, he grabbed the fur and folded over one shoulder. He scratched his scruffy chin, a bristling briar of coarse black hair.