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[>Marionette<]

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[Kurokiku]

Dorelith

Dorchaidhe - The Red Spindle Inn

Evening

Ephraim of Theren and The Seer

---

Rise and fall, that is what kingdoms and men do, and it is what the chest of the seer did as he stood in his dark corner of the inn’s bar. His hood hides his gnarled and deformed face, one where eyes do not exist and his lips are black as old clotted blood. Completely still, he stood, waiting or watching for something, as all seers do. When the moment was right, his staff shot out to stop a beanstalk of a man from walking past him. He regarded him with his nose, stepping forward to smell the air around him, he nodded, confirming something he thought. "You reek of it." his gravelled voice rasped. "Long have I lived and you reek of it more than any."

Dorchaidhe was a small city in the far southwest of Dorelith, notable for not being the kind of place where someone called the Messiah-Queen would ever want to live, nor indeed for being the kind of place that someone technically a daemon had to worry too much about being rounded up and forced to fight in an arena for the pleasure of others. It was, therefore, about as perfect as a population center this large could get. It smelled of unwashed skin and salty sweat, mixed with saltier ocean and dubiously-fresh fish, and the people were about what he’d expected from such a place, but they mostly ignored him, which was nice. Unless, of course, they were aggressively trying to sell him something, in which case his usual recourse was to duck his head politely and wave his hands in a noncomittal sort of way until they took him for a mute or an idiot, perhaps both, and let him go on his way, taking his awkward, twitchy half-smiles with him.

He doubted anyone looked twice, and that was the way he liked it. He was only here for some arrowheads and raw leather anyhow, and the less fuss, the better. Cities were better than smaller settlements for anonymity, because they were not inherently wary of strangers. They also, unfortunately, had more people, and that meant there was still more chance of running into something disastrous. Certainly, those chances were small, but bad luck had a way of finding Ephraim, and he didn’t ever trust his chances.

Which was perhaps why, when he ducked into an inn for something to eat and nearly tripped over the staff leveled at his legs, he wasn’t exactly surprised to note that the object belonged to an older person whose face was shadowed. At least it wasn’t a crone with half her teeth missing this time—something about those ones just gave him the shudders. They weren’t always so dramatic about stopping him though, and he winced when the staff cracked into his left knee. Or rather, his knee cracked into the staff. The man spoke in a voice weathered by… well, some combination of age and experience, probably; that was usually the case. Unless he’d been smoking a pipe his whole life—that tended to do it, too.

The words immediately set him to looking around the room, which was crowded and loud, hopefully enough so that nobody had heard the man speak. Why was it that no matter where he went, he drew these people out of the woodwork? It was like anyone who figured themselves half a seer was pulled to him like a moth to some kind of flame, and they always felt the need to tell him about it. “Er… I’m sorry? That I reek, I mean. And for hitting the, um—the staff. I just came through the fish markets; I was going to change shirts later?” Maybe it was some heroic force of dauntless optimism that made him try to play this off as something entirely different, but mostly he was pretty sure it was just vain, vain hope.

"Go about reeking like that and everyone will know what you are." The seer mumbled to himself more than to Ephraim, ignoring what he said and pulling him by the shirt to a table close to them. "Sit fool boy." His tone did not suggest he was asking or suggesting. Seated, the seer began to have his say, "I do not know why I see what I see, nor did I ask for this, same as you. Yet here we are, each with our own afflictions." His hood pulled back slightly when he leaned in to speak, showing his marred face in full to Ephraim. "You have been allowed to wander as you please without purpose for longer than you ought to have, but you won't be allowed to do so forever." His voice lowered, "The gifted are not born into this world by accident, each time they come they are born for great or terrible purpose. Sometimes both Ephraim. When they come it means war and justice and miracles and blood." Oh yes the seer knew his name and what he was, there was much the seer was forced to bare witness to. Too much in his opinion.

Of course not. It was never simple with this, was it? It was probably ironic, that the one whoreson—technically whorenephew—that was absolutely fine with never amounting to anything more than a vagrant with a modest trade and a lot of miles under his boots was the one who was apparently not allowed to retain his very modest status. He’d never wanted anything more in his life than he wanted the magic gone, but it seemed that no matter how low he ducked his head or how persistently he ignored what it whispered to him, he could not escape its hold. He tried very hard not to let his eyes dart about too suspiciously, but he was still afraid that they were going to be overheard, and that in his experience never ended well when this sort of thing was the subject.

So instead, he braced his hands on his knees, picking at a loose thread on his breeches with what appeared to be the utmost concentration, the nervousness of a jimmying leg suppressed into the bruising worry of teeth on his lower lip, patternless, nervous, consummately uncomfortable. His eyes occasionally flickered up to the old man’s marred face—black lips, scarred eye sockets, looking like something horror had dragged out of a bog and set on land. Well, it wasn’t like he was one to judge—he looked like a scarecrow animated out of a field, made to think it was a man. He shuddered at the sound of the word blood, just a fine little tremor, drawn from his spine by the cadence of the words in that raspy voice.

“But I don’t want any of that,” he said quietly, and even to him, it sounded weak. Pathetic. Spindly fingers danced over a knobby knee, and he sighed, casting his eyes once more to the floor, tapping that silent, frenetic rhythm still on his leg. The birds in the sky wish to be as free, as free as me, when I dream… A relic of his childhood, that. “I don’t want to be terrible. I don’t want to bring war and blood to anybody.” His lips twisted into a wry sort of grimace, and he met the place where the seer’s eyes would have been, had he any. “I’d be fine not being great, either, if it’s all the same. Great people usually die, in the end.” Even despite his protestations, he could feel the weight of the pronouncement, in a way that he usually did, but could also usually pay no mind to, at least once he was back out on the road. He could only hope that the same would prove true, this time. He did not like the way this felt as a call to arms would. The way it stirred something in his blood and marrow and skin.

The seer took hold of an half empty old cup that was not his from the table, studied the contents with sightless eyes for a bit and drained it in one go. He smacked his black lips indifferently, it was unclear if he retained any of what Ephraim said, "All that and more happens when just one of you is born, and now.." The seer tipped his cup, letting a pair of drops fall to the table. "...there are two." The way he said the words was like condemning the world to its fate. "If I could feel pity for any other than myself I would feel pity for you. The other is are not as you are, war and blood is what he desires, and if you do nothing, it will be too late when your hand is finally forced." He slammed the cup on the table, as if to make his point. "Make your choices wisely, align yourself with the good in this world, act." The seer stood up, not without difficulty, he had said his piece, the gods could demand nothing more from him, he was too damn old for this horseshit. Before he turned away he added, "Griffons are not unwise to follow." A hint of amusement in his voice.

The seer departed, and Ephraim pushed a little groan of air out his lungs, hunching over and scrubbing his hands down his face. The magic was whispering in his mind again; something about this particular old man had agitated it. Or maybe it only went looking for excuses to be agitated. There was another other person like him? But what was he in the first place? As far as he knew, he was just a man with too much magic and an itch to travel. He could only assume the relevant part of that was the magic thing, but lots of people had magic. Well, maybe not lots, but it wasn’t exactly rare, either. He really didn’t like where this was going.

The city suddenly seemed like far too congested a place, closed in by those walls and those cliffs, but his other choices were the forest or the sea, and while he’d come in through the former, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to tangle with the Kraken at this point in his life. It occurred to him that he was doing it again, seeking an escape route. Why, he couldn’t really even say—it wasn't like any amount of distance had ever stopped these portents and half-mad longsighted types from finding him before. And now he was getting specifically directed. “’Make your choices wisely,’” he echoed, a touch of melancholy coloring his tone rather blue indeed. “As long as they’re the ones we want you to make.” Not that he had any idea who the ‘we’ was… but there was definitely a we.

He had the sinking feeling he’d be finding out eventually.

[Talisman]

Dorelith

Darkwood—Abandoned Castle

Late Evening

Balthazar Weylin and Gehenna

---

If the castle has ever had a name, it was long lost to history. When they’d fist come upon it some months ago now, it had possessed the feel of a thing abandoned for centuries, left standing only by the initial integrity of the stonework, and perhaps by some remnants of enchantment. Much of what had been within was rotten or mildewed or almost overtaken once more by greying vines and ill-looking tree roots, but though all that was perishable had indeed perished, what lay beneath, the bare bones of the thing, still remained intact. It was no Darkwood Keep, lit from within by thousands of candles, visible even through the murk of the woods. In fact, it was quite the opposite of that, but this only meant it would suit their purposes perfectly.

Since that day, he’d burned it out, destroying everything that wasn’t protected by the enchantment and integrity of the place, swept the ashes out with a massive wind spell, scoured everything clean with water, and replaced what needed replacing. Most of the rooms were still empty, but that didn’t bother him. Noble scion he may have been, but the days of extravagance were long behind him, and he did not miss them. There were only two people here anyway, and only one of them needed to sleep.

He’d been awakened earlier in the evening by the return of a messenger, a daemon woman under his employ. Farah had brought word from the Sisters of the Amaryllis, one of the “white” covens. He suspected they were based somewhere in Silibard, but he didn’t know this for sure. Farah was bound by contract magic not to speak of any of the locations she delivered to or from. Safer than sending communication by birds that could be shot down, or on paper that could be intercepted. The verbal message had indicated that the Sisters—and why must all covens have such ridiculous names?—were still dragging their feet over making an actual decision. They were stalling by picking at grievances with him, issues over things like how many of them he expected to be out working to his ends at any given time, and where the authority to discipline any wayward agents would fall. Not unimportant, but rather finicky to be talking about when they were still deciding whether there would be any alliance at all.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he waved a hand to dismiss Farah, indicating that she could go get something to eat while he thought the whole business over and composed his reply. Not that there was anyone to serve her the food; she’d just have to take care of that detail herself. When the door closed behind her, Balthazar no longer bothered to hide his exaggerated sigh. Really. These people.

"You know, if there were another reasonably-sized body of people with adequate skills and motivation to kill Aule just sitting around Baekoth, I’d be tempted to just let this lot die by their own stupidity.” He flicked a glance over to his companion.

His glance was met by the beady eyed stare from a crow perched high in the rafters above. The creature's initial reply was to caw at him and to tilt its head inquisitively, before a sudden flap of its jet wings began it's descent. About halfway down to the floor, a change occurred and the bird was no longer, but a woman haloed by the few remaining stray feathers. "Tis not surprising." She began, the contempt in her voice dripping from the corners of her lips, "You mortals have a curious tendency to avert your eyes to the danger standing in front of you, lying to yourselves that everything will be fine even as the kindling is beginning to pile at your feet."

The woman crossed her arms and repeated the tilt of her head, before stepping forward toward Balthazar a few steps more than would be considered comfortable and stared. She stood a few inches shorter than him, though the advantage in height meant little as she gazed into him with a pair of austere alabaster eyes. She held the gaze for a moment before a smirk slipped into her lips and she turned away, looking instead at the window hole beside them. As she began to walk towards it, she began to speak again.

"If you wish for our counsel, then we would suggest a show of force," she said, taking a seat upon the sill. "Demonstrate that you are not a man to be trifled with, and let them fear you and the wrath that you can command," she continued, the smirk in her lips widening. "Show them that they possess choice: To bleed for you, or to bleed for us. They could be useful either way." She then lifted her feet from the floor and swung them over, so that one dangled out of the window, while the other remained on the sill.

She chuckled and looked back to Balthazar, "Granted, fear is not the only option you command, but nevertheless it can be effective if used properly. Personally, it is our favorite."

"Shocking.” Balthazar’s tone conveyed that the suggestion was anything but. Still, she did have a point. Respect was difficult to earn: it took time and a great deal of effort on the personal level, things that he didn’t necessarily mind but also could not necessarily afford. There would come a time when even all of the witches in the world would not be sufficient to quash Aule’s reign. That time was not yet upon them, but if he tried to entreat with them all on such a personal level, the window would close, and all his efforts would be for naught. He crossed his arms over his chest for a moment, letting his knees buckle and gravity carry him into the nearest chair.

Respect, unless he could find some sweeping way to earn it, would get him nowhere fast. If summoning a creature from the Outer Worlds was not enough to do it, he doubted he could. He was not the kind of man who inspired adoration in anyone—he never had been. People did not love him, and he as a rule wasn’t terribly fond of them either. He was charismatic, perhaps, but that would do him little good if they wouldn’t even meet him personally. By most reckonings, that did indeed leave fear, and he knew he was good at that. His power was sufficient to the task of making a gesture grand enough that none could forget it, but he did not think his remaining shreds of conscience would much allow it. He didn’t really like the idea of burning down a village or something foul like that—though it would certainly get him noticed if he managed it by himself. Maybe if it was a village full of Auleans...

No, if he was going to make a display of power, it would have to be one with all the impact of mass murder, without actually being mass murder. They didn't need the Inquisition on them yet, for one thing. The point was, it had to be difficult, perhaps even impossible, for people who were not him. But it couldn’t be too benign, or they’d start to doubt him for other reasons. So… not easy, and at least somewhat violent.

"I think… we need to murder something very large and very nasty, and take its head. That’s the thing to do, right? Take the head, mount it somewhere important?” The hint of humor to his words was matched by the glint of amusement in his eyes, but for all that, he was quite serious. The world was full of strange creatures, and not all of them meant humanity no harm. That was obvious. But if he could get a track record for getting rid of such things, people might be more inclined to believe that he had a chance to get rid of Aule, too.

"And what, our dear Witch King, do you intend to murder?" The woman asked, a frown returning to her lips. "If the deed is not grand enough, then the accomplishment, and in turn you, will just be dismissed. You must hunt something considerably dangerous in order to be acknowledged in such a manner." She then returned her gaze back out the window, her sigh audible even over the wind. "If it were a village or settlement instead, then you would gain just as much, if not more notoriety. You mortals are touchy when your kinsmen are slain and drained of their blood."

She then chuckled once as if a humorous thought entered her mind, and she spoke, "The heads of mortals tend to gain more of a reaction than the head of a beast, after all."

Infernal logic. Quite literally infernal logic.

As always, she had a point. But there were things that even Balthazar, in all his vengefulness and spite, was not willing to do, and for now at least, that was such a thing. Besides, what challenge was there really, in razing a human village with fire? Humans were weak, even if they were numerous. No, to be truly a gesture on the level he needed, he should prove not his ruthlessness but his strength. Ruthlessness might well win him the dark covens, but it would permanently alienate the white witches. He needed them all if he was to succeed. Power, they would all respect.

Contemplatively, the would-be king of witches licked his lips, biting down on the lower with some force, though it escaped his notice. His fingers drummed a rhythm on his knee, a gesture he’d picked up some years ago. The world was full of menacing things, if one was willing to go out of one’s way to find them. Balthazar, unlike many people, believed in dragons, but even if they did exist, they would be prohibitively difficult to find, and he knew not if he even stood a chance against such a creature. But… dragons did have lesser cousins. There were tales of drakes falling to large and skilled enough hunting parties, or wormes to fleets of ships. That seemed sufficiently large-scale. If he could do something like that on his own—or with Gehenna’s assistance only—then it might well be enough. But just to be certain, he had to pick the worst thing he believed himself able to handle.

"A hydra.” The determination broke into his contemplative silence quite starkly, and he grinned, a brief flash of white teeth, almost manic in its quickness but soon fading into something craftier. "Not one head, but nine. Enough to send to several covens with my compliments.” A statement, threaded with subtle threat. But not a deed so heinous as to repulse the more softhearted elements of his potential web of agents. In fact, it may even earn him points with them—hydra, on the rare occasion they encountered humanoids, tended to eat them. And the ingredients one could harvest from such a creature would fetch excellent prices on the black market… his efforts were in need of some funding.

"And I should suspect something of a delicacy for you, dear Birdy.”

Gehenna's response was thin-lipped smile and arch of a single eyebrow. "A hydra..." she repeated pensively. "Yes, a hydra would suit our purposes nicely. Oh, our dear Witch King, when was it you became so clever? It should be an amusing experience for us... And a filling snack."

If Balthazar had rolled his eyes any harder, they might well have fallen out of his head. Still, he huffed a short laugh. "You mean there is a bottom to that pit you call a stomach? Good to know."

[almostinsane]

Dorelith

Darkwood—Darkwood Keep

Late Evening

Theo Vael

---

Darkwood Keep. The thought of anything being built in the Darkwood conjured images of a decaying stone structure in the middle of a forest, lost to all civilization. Yet, in truth, the structure endured. Where most buildings in the godsforsaken woods would buckle under the assault of a thousand roots and tendrils testing, evading, breaking, and subverting the structure, the foilage of the forest drew back from the castle as if burned by an inner fire. Grim though it was with dark stone and lonely towers, the enchantments of the fortress were strong and old, allowing a thousand candles to shine upon the forest and the twin rivers it guarded, a sign of hope and strength to many a weary traveler who braved the dark forest which guarded the south of Dorelith.

Through generations uncounted by none save the elves, the Vaels had stewarded these lands, embodying the virtues of hope and faith in this place hidden from the light and the darkness never overcame it, though it came close, Sir Theo Vael knew. Close enough to drown his very soul in darkness and lies. But the Light had never forsaken him and now, the very walls of Darkwood Keep practically thrummed with new purpose.

Theo stood upon a balcony overlooking the men and women who now trained with blunted weapons within the courtyard of his Keep. It had always been a safe place for travelers and merchants to take refuge from the dark creatures of the woods, but it now sheltered a number of people from a greater evil: Aule Daroka. The Deceiver.

"You have not the strength to oppose the Deceiver's Queen, Ser Vael. Do not allow your pride to blind you," an old voice whispered beside him. Theo nodded and turned to and old man with weather-beaten, tanned skin.

"I am aware, Mobad. This Keep serves as a safehaven and a passage for those fleeing the Messiah Queen and her Inquisition. Doubtless, my retinue has more than doubled from those who stay, but I hold no delusions of overthrowing Aule Daroka's regent by myself."

"But..."

"But I am tired," the knight admitted, looking much older than his 25 years, "I am tired of bending knee to Aule's puppet. I am tired of evading the spies of the Inquisition, of paying off merchants who might suspect... I am tired of saving one person here and there if I am lucky while the kingdom burns and Aule makes a mockery of the Light's creation!"

"I sense the Light moving in ways we cannot even begin to understand, Ser Theo. He sent you back for a reason," the old Mobad stated gently, "You may not know what He intends, but when presents itself, you will know it. As surely as you would recognize a bolt of lightning in the darkness."

"It is said that the Divore Princess lives. The other one," the knight mused.

"Perhaps," The Mobad stated noncommittally.

"And Aradin?"

"You'd feel it if he had died."

The knight nodded before stepping away from his spiritual advisor, "It has been too long since I patrolled my lands. Assemble my guard and keep the refugees out of sight from the ferries traveling downriver. If a merchant gives them any trouble, Captain Alaric will remind them why I put a Daemon in charge of the tolls."

As he began to make his way down the stairs, he paused, as if remembering something, "If a ranger stops by, try to delay them. I would want to meet with one of the Order to see where they stand."

"What will happen will happen, my lord. By the Light, I thought I'd find myself at the wrong end of a knight's blade before I found myself his housekeeper."

Theo laughed.

"Steward, my teacher. Steward. It sounds better!"

Seated upon his steed minutes later and flanked by his guards, Theo eyed the foreboding the gloom of the dark foliage of his home and grinned. Few knights braved such danger so often in their own lands, but he was a Vael. And a Vael was the one light that was as much a part of Darkwood as the predators who made it their home.

[Lyx]

Taomar

Ruhar

Morning

Ked Silgen

---

When an annoyed slave kicked Ked it was more the jolt of foreign thoughts and emotions that flashed through his mind that woke him up, rather than the pain from the jab to his midsection. Ked pushed off his blanked and sat up in his cot, blinking at his assaulter. “What was that for, Frithen?” he asked, catching the other slave’s eyes.

“You were talking in your sleep again. Damn irritating. Can’t do anything with that kind of noise,” she said, crossing her arms. “All in some gibberish. You do that sometimes, you know. Just talk in gibberish in your sleep. Even more annoying than when you talk sense.”

“Doesn’t give you the right to kick me,” Ked said, sighing. He had a fight today, and while he had went to sleep earlier the previous night, it still helped to not be rudely woken up.

Frithen snorted. “Who said I couldn’t? Master don’t have any rules about kicking someone to wake ‘em up. You should get sumfin ta eat. Wouldn’t want one of Master’s first gladiators dying on account of an unfilled stomach. I’d hurry though. Kanta’s not ver’ patient.”

Ked stretched and stood, pulling his clothes out from underneath his pallet and putting them on. He noticed Frithen’s appreciative looks at his body, but he ignored them. Frithen had tried enticing him into coupling before, but he had refused. She was pretty enough for a gladiator, with big green eyes and a mane of shining dark hair. But Ked was wary of other gladiators. While he had only fought another one of Derrani’s gladiators only once before, there was a chance Derrani could have him paired up with another one of his slaves again. He didn’t want any attachments to get in the way of his survival.

Once dressed he went to the separate room where Kanta passed food out from a window. The cook noticed him and held out a plate. Ked thanked him and took the food back to his cot. Today’s breakfast was a roll and some sausage with water to wash it down. Aware that eyes were on him, or, more specifically, his food, Ked ate and gave the dishes back to the cook. One thing about being a gladiator was that one got to eat better food. As if that made up for risking your life on a regular basis.

When Ked was stretching and loosening his muscles Derrani came to visit. The daemon noble carried himself with an easy arrogance, though he would probably prefer to call it confidence. On first glance he looked old with his white hair and grey skin, but Ked knew his master was only in his sixty-eighth year and still going strong. Derrani watched as Ked stretched, his black eyes appraising his slave blandly. “You’re facing one of Lansha Geito’s champions today. Arden Crusher.” He gave a small laugh at the name. Derrani thought it silly when people gave their champions names like Crusher or Bonesplinter or whatnot. Ked was glad of that quirk of his master’s, for he was glad he had a more normal name.

“Yes, Master. What are the conditions?” Ked asked.

Derrani brushed some dust off his tunic before answering Ked’s question. “You’re fighting with daggers. No armor. The match is to the death. Better pay off that way.”

Ked narrowed his eyes slightly at the nonchalant reminder that Derrani didn’t care a whit about his life beyond his ability to win battles. Then he regained control of his facial muscles, making his face a mask again. “I will win, Master.”

“I’m betting a lot on your victory, so please, do so,” Derrani said. He turned and left the slaves’ room.

Ked gritted his teeth. Yes, you bastard, I’ll win, but not with you in mind. Ked took a deep breath, and, because there was nothing else he could do, resumed with his stretches.

[>Marionette<]

---

---

Dorelith || Silibard || Late Morning || Iphigenia

---

---

Now in Silibard forest, the group had raided another slaver caravan and added ten and five more to their number. They stood strong at sixty and one now, too large a group to be a force easily dealt with, but too small to accomplish anything durastic. By now there was no doubt in her mind the talk of slavers gone missing was reaching Ruhar and Nydoecia, she felt now was the time to risk going into a village like Silibard. Still, she took precautions, they made camp in the forest instead of staying in town, went in smaller groups to get supplies and proper clothing. Iphigenia herself had not yet been into the village, wanting to be one of the last to go, they had been here a week and a half and now her turn was up. For herself she needed to find an inn for a proper bath and clothes more fitting for travel. There would be a time where silk was necessary but now was not it. The gown she wore was stained and ripped, dirty with the elements.

“We must be on our way back before the day is done, we grow restless here in Silibard, it is not good to linger so long.” She addressed her party, the last ones who would be going into Silibard. There were three other women, Tessa, Gerty, and Betha. Tessa and Gerty were serving girls that had been with Iphigenia since the beginning, Tessa was tall and lithe and blonde. Gerty was tall as well but much more buxom. Betha was a daemon woman who fought in the arena, she was thin but all that she had was muscled and strong, her face was fierce and sharp. Betha would draw attention with her pale purple skin and tail, but being with a group would help townsfolk leave her be. The majority of the freed slaves were humans, so they were sure to send humans with the daemon individuals to prevent any trouble.

“We've already drawn too much attention. Best to leave before someone calls the inquisition." Iphigenia mounted her steed.

“No one expects the inquisition." Reasoned Tessa.

“Wouldn’t want her grace to lose her head, it’d cut the rebellion a bit short.” Gerty mused, who had never called her anything but Iphi, as they had known each other since the princess had come into Duran’s ownership.

Next to her Tessa snorted. “Yeah a rebellion no one even got a chance to hear of. The secret rebellion we’d be called. Came and went, just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“The more we grow in number the bolder we can be. I would not allow us to brave even humble Silibard with the numbers we had in the beginning. But even so, we have not breached a hundred, and not all of those in our group are trained fighters.” Iphigenia referred to Tessa, Gerty, and the other serving girls that had served Duran, herself included, which numbered ten in total. Then there were the children they had adopted from the raids. Iphigenia was disgusted but not unsurprised that their masters dared to take them to Ruhar, around such danger and violence. She hadn’t been much older than they when she began helping tend to the gladiators for Duran. There were two, and Iphigenia had been at a loss of what to do with them when they found them, they were a rebellion after all, and the children would be in constant danger if they were associated with them. However the children were also former slaves, already branded, rope burn scars on their little wrists, they couldn’t hide what they were and try to pass them off to someone without risking them being sold off all over again. Where would they even find anyone willing to take them? Better they be in danger with people who cared about them than with strangers who didn’t give a damn. Besides, she had found them to be a joy.

“Not yet, I’m getting pretty good with my sword if I do say so myself.” Said Gerty.

“Yes, you’re the only one who would say so.” Tessa laughed as Gerty gave her a shove, almost knocking her off her steed; it was Gerty's turn to laugh now.

“At least you are all far better than when I first saw you.” Betha spoke up for the first time since they had ridden out, her tone more serious. “But you have yet to face a real enemy; we’ve always outnumbered the guards when we raid. What we’ve met so far is nothing.”

“So she does speak.” Tessa rode over next to her, “We’ve faced enemies very real my dear, they were just different than the ones you had to face.”

“No they were the same, they were men, mostly. Just horny men, so perhaps you should have said ‘in a different way than the ones you had to face’.” Gerty quipped.

The women laughed as they made their leave. Their trip would be one of pure banter and laughter with this particular group.

[Solo Wing Pixy]

Dorelith
Red Harbor - The Keep
Morning
Talia Tane

"...of course, that would leave the main road from Citha to Nydoecia understaffed for, oh, a fortnight perhaps. My Lady?" Candlewax feigned injury to his pride when Talia snapped back from her trance. He had spent the previous twenty minutes discussing the minutiae of "troop" movements and the associated problems, a topic in which Talia held no interest.

"Yes Jasper, that is acceptable." She addressed him by his birth name, rather than his codename, something she did for no one else. "I doubt any of our high value targets will be travelling that road soon anyway, at least not openly. Now tell me what I really want to know. About our friend in Pinefall. Was he successful?" The question was meant only as a prompt for the report. She did not doubt agent Blackfox's ability to succeed, and she removed a piece of parchment and a quill from her desk. She began drafting a letter even as Candlewax delivered his report.

"Yes, my lady. I received a raven from Blackfox early this morning. It seems Lord Sorrell has indeed suffered a family tragedy. His only son and heir, Regan, was found dead of apparent drowning in the Pinefall harbor just yesterday." The usually grim faced Candlewax sported an eerie grin as he continued. "I'm afraid that puts much pressure on you, my lady, to provide the good Lord Sorrell with an heir, and soon. We've all heard the rumors of his failing health."

Talia appreciated his humor, a fact made obvious to him by the slight smirk she wore while finishing her letter. He stood patiently as she wrote, the inky black words flowing from her quill on to the parchment in a neat, educated script. As she finished, she passed it to Candlewax, who quickly scanned it before folding and sealing it with black wax, pressing his signet ring into it, a raven over a crescent moon.

"A hundred slaves?" his tone was incredulous. What she proposed was a huge risk, completely uncharacteristic of her, and he sought a little knowledge as to why she would expend so much money on a hunch.

"Yes, and make sure they are quality, all of them. Seasoned gladiators and the like. Our friend should be able to fit right in."

Candlewax nodded then. It was Talia's business why she took the risks she did, and not his place to question further. "My Lady." He spoke in closing, and took his leave, stepping towards the windowsill, transforming into a raven with his magics, and took flight into the morning sky, Talia's letter clutched in his claws.

---

---

---

Dorelith
Pinewatch Outskirts
Midday
Locke de Chevin

Locke enjoyed Pinefall. It's taverns were warm, it's women inviting, and the pine tree covered cliffs provided a welcome reprieve from the hottest summer suns, and the coldest sea breezes. What he did not, however, enjoy about the city, was the abundance of soldiers and guards it possessed. Normally, after a job, Locke was free to spend his time and money as he pleased, which, true to form, was usually at a tavern or a brothel, or if he was lucky, the bedchambers in someone else's manor.

In the case of Pinefall though, with their many soldiers not in the employ of the Lord of Ravens, Locke was required to quarantine himself in an abandoned barn a few miles from the city proper until Candlewax brought him his new orders.

And so Locke found himself in this half rotted barn, with nothing to do but drink from his flask and attempt to sate his hunger with the bit of jerky he had left, to no avail. The air inside was stale and smelled of decaying wood with a hint of dead rodent, and the floor was littered with bits of debris, mostly roofing and splintered boards. He had shed his armor and cloak in the stuffy heat, and although he long ago recognized the temporal extension caused by counting the seconds, he did so anyway.

Put enough alcohol, or any liquid for that matter, in a man, and you'll soon find that he can only hold so much. Locke, having discovered this for the first time since his arrival, decided to relieve himself openly, figuring that no one would be coming for at least another few hours. True to his luck however, no sooner had he began wetting the wood and dirt below him, a raven flew through the rafters and landed in front of him, taking the shape of Candlewax as it did, who immediately looked away in disgust.

"Gods, Locke. Just right in the middle of the barn? Couldn't you designate a corner as the shit-and-piss corner like a civilized human being, instead of just going anywhere you please like an untrained mutt?" Locke finished urinating, a task which lasted an impressive forty five seconds, before responding.

"Nope. Here's good. You know, I think it actually improves this place." He secured his trousers and stepped around the fresh puddle to face Candlewax. "I suppose it's too much to hope for that my next job be in Nydoecia, and I get to pretend to be a rich merchant with a love of whores?"

"You needn't pretend that you love whores, Locke."
"Right. That's what makes the job easy. No one would suspect that I am playing the part of myself." Locke grinned, and Candlewax groaned. The former spellblade stretched out his hand, giving the black sealed letter to Locke, who broke the seal and read it.

Agent Blackfox,

Agent Candlewax reports your success with much praise, and I can see why he has invested much faith in you. Your skill and bravery in my name will not go unrewarded or unrecognized. Candlewax will impart upon you a payment, in excess of your regular wages, for your discretion, silence, and patience with me and my various "needs."

I have even further a reward for you; the chance to prove your status and loyalty to me fully, and earn a command of your own as one of my select few lieutenants. I do not grant this chance lightly, nor do I guarantee that success in this endeavor will be rewarded with a promotion. I do, however, urge you to take this opportunity, as I believe we both know that you are able and worthy of the potential position. In the grand scheme of things, Agent Blackfox, you stand to rise to nobility, a feat not many former slaves can claim.

Your assignment, and I stress that it is voluntary, as I view forcible conscription to potentially dangerous assignments as inherently detrimental to a given agent's capacity for success, will consist of return to slavery. I know that, given your past, you may be averse to this, but I ask you to trust me. You shall not remain in chains for more than a week, during which you will fight in no pit, nor serve no noble. You will march, with a hundred or so "real" slaves, from Nydoecia through the Silibard forest and to Ruhar. If my sources are accurate, and I believe them to be, your caravan will not complete it's journey.

You may have heard rumors of slaves disappearing along that road, and I have reason to believe it is more than mere bandits. I cannot say more, but I believe that when you are set free, you will find yourself in the company of men and women willing to wage war against the crown, or at least against the slavers. What they lack must be manpower, or else they would be far bolder in their attacks. If you haven't figured yet, the point of this slave march will be to bolster their number, and implant you within their ranks to report their activities directly with me. The caravan will be set up by Agent Choice, all you must do is make your way to Nydoecia with haste.

R


"From the Lord of Ravens himself. He is pleased with your work."
"This is a big risk. Even I know that. What if it turns out to be nothing?"
"I do not think it will be nothing, Locke. Make your way to Nydoecia. A friend has left a horse for you outside. She's wily and fast, just the way you like 'em." Finishing his piece with a bit of a cackle, he took flight once again, disappearing into the sky.

Locke gathered his things and emerged from the barn, glad to smell the fresh air. Sure enough, a slim black mare waited patiently outside, and she let out a satisfactory whinny upon seeing him. He mounted her and spurred her in the direction of Nydoecia, eager to complete this new task for his Lord.

[Talisman]

Free Lands

Foothills of the Aecian

Dawn

Evelyne

---

The sun was just beginning to crest the far horizon in the wee hours of the morning. The foothills of the Aecian mountains were painted in a dull twilight, waking the creatures to the start of the new day. Well. Most creatures. A certain ranger still slept, her face buried into the saddle she used for a pillow, blissfully unaware of the waking world around her, and particularly the thumping of hooves that drew near. The chestnut horse didn't stop until it stood above her head, where it craned it neck and tried to wake the ranger with his tongue. It took a few licks before she finally reacted.

Lazily swatting at the horse to stop, the ranger Evie groaned an exaggerated sigh and tried to push the horses face out of her own. "Come on Meis, What did I tell ye about wakin' me up like that?" She whined, hiding her head with her arms, though it did little to dissuade Meister. Instead of continuing the lick her, he opted instead to latch on to the saddle under her head and pull, finally managing a satisfactory reaction. Throwing herself up into a sitting position, Evie threw her hands up and conceded defeat. "Fine! I'm up! D'ye see, look. I'm up. Ye happy Meis, hmm? Ye happy now?" She rattled off before letting her arms drooped back to her side.

Closing her eyes again, she leaned forward until her head pressed up against the horses and she spoke, "Serious. Cannae ye stop wakin' me up like that? I love ye, but I can do without ye tongue on me face every morn." She remained like that for awhile, her face pressed against Meister's, and it wasn't until he began to pull back that she finally stirred. Turning and rising to her feet, she stretched to the symphony of a number of her bones popping and cracking in unison and ended with her hands on her hip as she watched the sun rise in the east.

A top of one of the taller hills, with the Aecian Mountains to her back, the place where she had made camp had the added benefit of granted a great view of the sunrise. She stood and watched it for a moment, talking to Meister as she did. "Look at that, Meis. This is why I like this place, no better view in all of Baekoth, I'm willin' to bet." After watching the sunrise for a minute or two, Evie went to the saddle that was her pillow moments ago, and extracted her breakfast. A bit of dried venison, a few berries and a hard biscuit. She ate as the sun rose completely above the horizon and bathed the world around her in it's morning light.

"Right." She said, standing back up, "Let's get ready for the day's adventure, what d'ye think Meis?" With that, she went about the process of breaking camp, which wasn't too difficult. A ranger never left any trace of themselves behind, and Evie traveled light, so there was no need to clean up. When she resaddled Meister, the only thing that said she'd been there was the bent grass where she had slept for the night, and soon even that would pass.

She mounted Meister and pointed him toward the north, allowing him to set his own pace through the foothills. "We'll start patrollin' north, see what we see," she told the horse, "If nothin's out of the ordinary, we'll start pushin' east, and see how far the orcs are treadin' this month. What d'ye think Meis? Sound like a plan?" She asked. As a ranger, she patrolled the Freelands to ensure that the orcs didn't push too far out of their hunting grounds toward Creid and otherwise make sure that the area was free from trouble. Relatively.

While she was a ranger, she was still only a year removed from taking her oaths. She had yet to work up the courage to venture too far from the Aecian by herself, though she still had memories of Dorelith, particularly the Silibard and the Darkwood with her parents. Perhaps one day she would make her return. But that day would not be today. As the sun inched further and further into the sky, ranger and mount plodded northward, the ranger surprisingly chatty despite the fact that there was no one to chat with.

[LuckyNumber24]

Dorelith

Outside the Rebel Encampment

Midnight

Balthazar Weylin and Amorette Mellis

---

In the dark of night, a shadowed figure streaked across the blue-black sky, accompanied by the soft snapping of fabric in a strong headwind. Its path was more or less direct, headed for a specific region of the continent. It should not be much longer now. It could not feel discomfort from the chill of its passage, nor did the constant barrage of wind and particulate matter in the air abrade what little skin it did not wrap in fabric. A sort of faint, deep smoke marked its route, like a black ribbon make of silk or perhaps velvet, for it was nearly invisible.

It was also entirely unnecessary, but he did tend to go in for the dramatic, it could be said. Glancing down, he could make out the lights of campfires in the distance, and knew he approached his destination swiftly. It would be best to land now, and cover the rest of the way on foot. A feat… more easily spoken of than accomplished. He pursed his lips, warily beginning his descent. At least it was easier with these projections—fewer factors to account for. He eased off on his speed as gradually as possible, but it was not easy. Once one reached a certain slowed velocity, one was more susceptible to changes in airflow, and eventually, his propulsion was no longer enough to—

Defy gravity. He lost this ability much further up than he’d intended, the spell’s inherent instability rearing its head at an unfortunate moment, and he fell the rest of the distance, landing hard in a puff of dust, off balance. His arms windmilled to keep himself upright, to no avail—he fell right over onto his back, the impact puffing out the cloak there for a moment until it lay back down around him. He could almost hear her laughter in the back of his mind. Nailed that one, Gil.

With a sigh, he regained his feet, his innate durability serving him well and preventing any serious injury from his ungainly fall. Tragic, that he could achieve such results with a soul-self as easily as the whole one. Though there was no one else to see, he brushed himself off in a hurry, clearing his throat and setting himself back to rights. Once the cloak hung about his shoulders just so, he smoothed his hair back into some semblance of order and strode forward towards the encampment. He did not seem to be especially concerned with discovery.

---

Amorette groaned as she slid into the tub, warm water soaking her skin and relaxing her sore body. The past several days on the road had been treacherous, filled with bumps, bandits, and an insufferable amount of trees. The spymistress toyed with the two wedding rings on her index finger as a young servant girl wrapped her raven hair in a turban of golden snakeskin.Iya, one of her most trusted advisors, sat across the room from her, giving her lady counsel. “So my home in Red Harbor is completely out of question?” The Queen Bee leaned back and sighed dramatically, already aware of what the answer would be. Iya shook her head, curly dark locks swaying as she spoke. "No, my lady. You have far too many enemies in Red Harbor and it would be unwise to hide from the Messiah Queen in her own territory."

Amorette smiled politely at the servant after she finished with the turban, then gestured to a small case of vials on the ground near the tub. "Perhaps I could seek refuge with my good friend, Talia." She laughed as she emptied the vials, filling the room with the scent of exotic flowers and fruit. "Well, Lady Tane does seem to have some desire to taste your. . . honey pie." Iya grinned mischievously. "Perhaps if you allowed her to-" "Iya!" Amorette feigned shock, the unexpected rise in her voice startling the servant girl slightly as she stood by the spymistress' side. "You would have your lady whore herself for shelter and protection? I'll have you know that I am a woman of honor!" She kicked, splashing her advisor with the scented bath water. Iya laughed at first, but a sudden force came over her. She reached into her dress and pulled out a scrying mirror in a panic. "What is it, dearie?" Amorette asked, all humor drained from her voice. "A powerful presence has arrived here. I believe it's a mage but I am unsure." Worry made her voice tremble.

"Relax, Darling." Amorette stood up and stepped out of the bath, the servant girl quickly wrapping her in a black silk robe. She walked over to a table on which her most precious possessions rested. She grabbed two golden needles and slid them up her sleeves."Take the little darling back to her quarters and then find Silk and Alder." "Are you su-" "Yes. Scurry along now, my friend." Iya nodded, taking the servant and leaving. Amorette was alone.

She would not be for long. Perhaps a minute and a half later, footsteps, measured and sure, could be heard outside of the tent. Eventually, they came to a pointed halt, and someone cleared his throat. "Lady Mellis.” The tone was familiar to her, though they had not yet met in person, rather communicating over long distances via magic. Though as a rule low and velvety, there was a distinct thread of amusement in it, as though the owner knew something that struck him as humorous. "Have you enough implements of danger on your person to feel comfortable admitting a guest?”

"Is that a suitor calling for my hand in marriage?" Amorette smiled, but a small amount of anxiety gripped her chest. Why would the Witch King feel the need to speak in person. "Do come in, Darling. I'm decent."

The flap at the front of the tent lifted, brushed aside by the pale, long-fingered hand of the Witch King, and the man himself followed thereafter, straightening to his full height once inside the tent. He had an impressive presence, perhaps helped along by the fact that even the mundane could to some extent feel the faint whisper of magic that surrounded him, something between a brush against the skin and a taste on the back of the tongue, tangy and electric. He carried no symbol of his purported rank, distinguishable by the all-black of his wardrobe and the gently-curved sword at his hip more than anything.

"A frequent problem of yours, Lady Mellis? It sounds rather inconvenient to business.” He didn’t seem to mind the jest, but neither did he play directly into it. Fixing her with a decidedly-green gaze, he tilted his head fractionally to the side, like a cat does when examining something moving in the grass. "It would seem that your circumstances have rather changed since last we spoke.” It wasn’t a question, but it appeared to invite comment all the same.

"Circumstances are always changing for women like me," she said, lifting her arms and patting the hair within her turban. "And for people like us." She gestured to the chair on which Iya had been sitting. "Please, make yourself comfortable, my friend." She looked him up and down, taking in the Witch King for all he was. The pale woman sat down in a chair near the tub, crossing her legs and resting her wrist on the metal rim. The tips of her fingers dipped into the still warm water, sending small ripples across the surface. "I hear that a certain Witch King is gaining a bit of notoriety with the covens." Her face became a mask of pleasantry. Her voice did not change. "However, not enough notoriety to trouble the Messiah Queen." She watched him, her body perfectly still and her dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Now, my little black bird, may I ask why you disturbed my bath? I almost had the smell of that wretched forest off my skin."

The cloaked man made a soft sound of amusement, arching one sharp brow. "Your pardon, then. ‘Twas not my intention to make a nuisance of myself.” He seemed disinclined to make himself any more comfortable than he already was, however, and simply folded his arms behind his back instead of taking a seat or anything similar.

"My ongoing negotiations with the covens are a situation which will be remedied. Citha was not built in a day.” His reply was characteristically blunt, and he waved a hand as if to dismiss it. There seemed to be a subtle shift in the air around him, and he moved the topic of conversation to go along with it. "I have little taste for the sorts of politics you are most well-versed in, Lady Mellis, but I do know how warfare works. And I know, among other things, that to succeed in an endeavor like this one, one must have allies. Eyes, ears, and blades in the right places, as it were.”

He smiled, a slow, deliberate sort of thing that reached his eyes well enough, but contained the faintest hint of malice. "You are, we both know, quite good at what you do. Your information has always been excellent. You and those who work for you are efficient, quiet, and effective. I see no reason why your present state of exile should fail to serve you any less than your previous situation did, provided you utilize it well. I am here to offer you the chance to do that. Stay here, among these rebels. Watch them, earn their trust. Tell me what you see and hear, and then, if I should make overture for a formal alliance in the future, use your familiarity with them to aid the negotiations.” He paused there, almost as if anticipating a forthcoming question.

"And what would I be getting out of this?" A focused gleam shone in her eye as Amorette pulled her hand from the bath water and sat back in her chair. She crossed her hands in her lap and stared, almost vacantly, at the slender man before her. He was more handsome in person, she decided, but with that came a factor of intimidation. He was a powerful mage and a skilled warrior. She only had a handful of poisoned needles to protect herself if this discussion truly went sour. "Perhaps that was a bit blunt. Apologies, Your Grace, I must still be riled up from this whole exile business." She smiled a ladylike smile and bowed her head slightly.

At that, he actually laughed. It wasn’t one of those particularly bombastic laughs that some people had, more like a chuckle, honestly, but it was laughter all the same. "By all means, be as blunt as you like. I prefer it that way.” The expression faded back into something closer to solemnity, though it did not lose all trace of good humor. "As for what you would receive, well… should such an alliance prove to be successful, then I think it only fair that the responsible parties were given their due. You would gain a place at the center of my network, and a rank of command here. And when Dorelith is mine, well… I suspect there will be several vacant duchies to choose from. I hear the valley regions are lovely in the summertime. Or perhaps you would simply prefer to reclaim what is lost? I am open to suggestions.”

He lifted his shoulders, in something not quite a shrug, and there was a wry twist to his mouth. "As you were blunt, so let me be: I am as good to my allies as I am vengeful to my foes. Perhaps moreso. It only makes sense, after all.”

"Given their dues," Amorette smiled as she repeated the words. "I do like the sound of that, Darling." She imagined the Messiah Queen burning at the stake, screaming to her god for mercy. The image sent shivers down her spine. There was a shift in her expression. A genuine smile replaced the facade she had been wearing. "Nydoecia has always been my home." Faint memories of her husband floated back to her. In her eyes, the Witch King would see a rare glimpse of authenticity. "I would like to keep the city my husband ruled." She breathed in, slowly. A flash of blonde hair and grey eyes crossed her mind and her face hardened into the mask once again. "If Your Grace would have it, I would take Red Harbor as well. There resides some nasty thorns in my side." Talia Tane and the Lord of Ravens joined the Messiah Queen in the spymistress vision of fire and vengeance. Or perhaps only the Lord would burn and Talia would be condemned to live the rest of her life as Amorette's handmaiden. Ah. She mentally sighed. A girl could dream.

He paused, presumably to consider it. "Then Nydoecia it will be. As for Red Harbor… we shall see. I am hoping to have more than one person to appoint land to, after all. Though I do not fault your ambition.” One corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

"Do we have an accord, Lady Mellis?”

The Queen Bee nodded towards the man. "I believe we do, my dear." She rose from her seat and took several steps towards her new employer. Amorette extended her hand. "For now, all I need is good faith, but I'll have a contract drafted up and sent over to you for a signature."

The upward tick remained at the corner of the Witch King’s mouth, and he flicked his glance down to her hand for a moment, as if attempting to recall something. In the end, he took it in his with a delicate touch, almost oddly so, and feathered his lips over her fingers, as was polite. "Then let it be so.”

Balthazar straightened back to his full height, and then he disappeared.

[Kurokiku]

Dorelith

Central Darkwood

Nautical Dawn

Astrid Weaver

---

The Darkwood was a forbidding place, cloaked in a semipermanent twilight. The trees were gnarled, twisted things, often almost entirely bereft of leaves, the trunks an ashen, skeletal grey, bulbous roots protruding in several places from thin soil. A mist blanketed the forest floor, stirred only by the occasional movement from one of the spare occupants of the place, or, as might be the case at times, visitors. The whole thing smelled keenly of rot, overlaid with a sort of sweet, sickly poison, the drippings from the more succulent plants that wove in parasitic vines amongst the petrified wood. There were rumors that some of these plants were carnivorous, but they allowed her to pass without hindrance.

That didn’t speak to their benignity, truthfully. Astrid Weaver was many things, and most of them belonged here. Soft paws padded over the ground, a mile-eating lope that had carried her across the continent more than one time before. A swish of her long tail stirred the mist behind her, marking her passage through the darkly-sacred ground. For all that it was one man’s ominous obstacle, a place of fear and terror, it was for others a welcome sight, the opportunity to disappear, to hide, to go forgotten or ignored.

One was no less false than the other.

She’d flushed out a small coven of witches today, just three, but three that had been bold enough to begin taking folk from the nearby Dorchaidhe. There was little that organized patrols could do about it, but they had at least been particularly meticulous in writing down their observations, and one guard had even managed to snatch a piece of shawl from one of the witches, which made things almost too easy for Astrid in terms of tracking. Almost, but not quite.

The dried blood on her shoulder could attest to that much, belonging as it did to a broad, but not especially deep, wound that she’d acquired when one of them had sniffed her out before she was able to spring her trap. It had been too late to save them, but it had made the resulting confrontation quite the thriller, so to speak. Still, three dead witches were three dead witches, and though her hastily-applied healing job had not been quite enough to mend all the damage, the sluggish bleeding that remained was already slowing to almost nothing, and the pain of it wasn’t really a bother, only making her stride somewhat irregular.

Still, she could use a place to stop and take care of it, as well as get everything else in order. The proof of her completion of the hunt was carried in an oilcloth satchel dangling from her jaws, but it would be perhaps too strange a sight if she walked back into the city carrying it as she was.

More than that, though… she just wanted to take a nap. Everything else would keep, and even if it didn’t, she couldn’t confess to caring all that much.

By her mental map of the forest, she wasn’t too far from the keep now, but hopefully far enough that she need not be concerned with happening upon any of the guards from there. The way she heard it, the lord of that particular stone edifice was a bit of a rules-and-regulations bastard, and she wasn’t really (ever) in the mood to be answering questions from people like that. She’d have to show her papers, and then probably pay a bribe anyway for hunting on someone else’s land without permission… not worth it.

This in mind, she deposited her sack at the base of one of the trees, bounding up the trunk and into a lower branch that she was sure would hold her weight, and stretched herself out over it. The sudden movement refreshed the wound a little, and a few drops of blood fell to the forest floor below, but she paid it no mind. It would close again, or it would not and she would deal with it later.

Yawning widely, she tested the air with tongue and nose one final time to ensure that nothing she need concern herself with was in the immediate area, and then closed her eyes to sleep.

[Kurokiku]

The Freelands

Aecian Mountain Range

Midmorning

Ephraim of Theren and Evelyne

---

The old cast-iron pot hung suspended over Ephraim’s campfire with a well-constructed support formation of wood, staked to either end of the small fire pit, a thicker branch nestled in the y-shaped ones at either end. It had proven effective before, and he could not complain this time, either, considering the rather delicious smell of rabbit stew wafting its way over to him from inside the pot. Occasionally, he reached over to stir with a thick wooden spoon, leaning a tad awkwardly to reach it. But he didn’t really want to stand up yet—his ankle still smarted from the previous night’s mishap, and the leg to which it belonged lay stretched out in front of him, bootless. The area was swollen an angry red, with purplish blotching, but considering the state it had previously been in, it wasn't looking too bad. Shame he couldn’t get the healing spell quite right, or he’d be walking fine already.

But, well, things didn’t always go to plan, especially for him, and he’d learned to compensate by now, at least enough to get by. Getting by though… he sighed, the old seer’s words still rolling around in his head. Like those glass marbles he’d played with when he was a child. They tended to do that, though he supposed it all seemed a little less shiny and new when he’d heard it from every soothsayer he’d ever come across. He was getting to the point by the way he could detect the frauds—anyone whose portents didn’t scare him wasn’t doing it right, he was pretty sure. None of them had told him he smelled bad before though.

Self-consciously, he lifted his sleeve to his nose and took a sniff. Dirt, a bit of damp, and leaves, mostly. Not exactly flowers and perfume, but at least it wasn’t fish. He didn’t see how it qualified as reeking. Was it supposed to be a metaphor for something? Did magic even have a smell? There was so much he didn’t have the first clue about.

“Great or terrible purpose, was it? Must have been talking to someone else.” He looked balefully at his ankle again. The stew was almost done, though. That was a plus.

If Ephraim was to look to the east, he'd see the silhouette of a horse and rider drawing closer and closer to his campfire. As the figure approached, the details of the rider began to fill themselves out. She, and she was a she going by the fiery mat of red hair, rode a chestnut colored horse with a flaxen mane and tail, expertly trotting along the uneven landscape. She wore a sleeveless leather jerkin, clearly of her own roughhewn make, a cloak draped over the numerous packs that laden her horse. Eventually however, the woman raised a hand and waved in his direction, her mouth working as if she was talking to someone.

For a moment, Ephraim blinked slowly, almost certain that he wasn’t seeing her, but eventually he decided she must be real, as he couldn’t recall passing by anything hallucinogenic he could have bumbled into consuming. He looked around to both sides when she waved, as if to make sure that there wasn’t someone more important nearby. In the end, he pointed to himself with the wooden spoon in query, something that he regretted when some of the hot broth on it dripped onto his thigh, scalding him through his linen trousers.

“Ouch!” Should have used the other hand.

Soon she was close enough for them to converse without having to shout at each other across the expanse. "See Meis, I told ye it was a person, but ye dinae believe me, did ye? No, Meis knows everythin', doesn't he?" She said to her horse, playfully flicking his mane as she spoke. "Well, introduce yeself Meis," she commanded, though the only answer the horse managed was a gust of wind exhaling through his nostrils. "Hmpf. Rude. Anyway, stranger, this is Meister, and I'm Evelyne though everyone calls me Evie," she said with a bright smile, afterward slipping right off her face as if realizing something important.

"Oh. Right. Now I'm the strange one, jus' walkin' up on ye like this. Ye must think I'm a right fool," she said with a blush, dismounting Meister. "Ye must think it's odd, for someone to jus' show up out of nowhere like this. I'm sorry for that but-- Right, what I needed to say," she said, a look of frustration flickering across her face. "This... This is terribly awkward," she said with another blush, "But there's band o' orcs not too far to the east. Usually they dinae come this far west, they'll likely stop at the base of the mountains-- but," She said, with a single raised finger, then bending it and pointing at the fire. "If they see that, they may jus' get curious enough to come and see what that's about."

The dumbfounded silence stretched out for several dozen awkward seconds, before Ephraim remembered how to use his tongue. In his defense, that was a lot of words to sort through, and though her accent was one he’d heard a few times before, it was still different from the one he’d been raised around, so that added a bit to the time as well. Always the silver-tongued poet, he put everything together properly and mustered a reply.

“Er.”

Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose, an action that he had to abort halfway through because he’d almost used the spoon-hand to do it. Switching hands, he tried to ignore the way his face was heating up and actually remember some of those useful words he knew. He didn’t exactly spend so much time alone because he was great with people, after all, and this sudden appearance had really caught him by surprise.

Clearing his throat, he tried again. “I mean, uh… I know. About the orcs.” Looking down, he scrubbed ineffectually at the wet spot near his knee, succeeding only in spreading it a little further. “I, um, had a bit of a run in with them. Last night, to be exact." The reddish tinge to his face deepened. It wasn’t exactly a favorable tale for his dignity. If there were any such tales. “Actually, this is probably the one place they definitely won’t be bothering with anytime soon, so.” Not exactly sure how to end the thought, he just bit it off at the end, mangling his grammar but at least not stammering too much.

Like a puppy's, Evie's head tilted out of a mixture of surprise and confusion. "Wait, what?" She stammered out before unconsciously reaching forward to cradle the sides of his head. First she pulled it to one side, and then turned it to the other like she was making sure it was still attached. "Ye ran into them? Serious? And ye still have your head attached to ye shoulders? What? They dinae try to take it from you? They're a violent bunch, big, buff, a love of fightin' and war, same orcs ye ran into? they don't jus' let people go, ye know?" She said, the incredulity seeping into her voice.

Her eyes were then drawn to the foot laid out in front of her, and a scarlet eyebrow rose, "If ye really did run into 'em, then ye should be lucky ye got out with only a sprained ankle. Not many can get that lucky." She still held the sides of his head, unaware that she probably should've let go a while ago, and continued to stare at him, looking him up and down before coming back to his ankle. "How'd ye bloody manage that?" she said exasperated.

Ephraim reeled backwards for all of a split second before he realized that doing so could tip her off-balance, which would likely deposit her on him, and even having his face grabbed by a stranger was preferable to that, and so he forced himself to be still, his muscles tense like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a hunting cat. “I-i-i-it’s the Hundoht!” The explanation tumbled out of him in a garbled rush—seized by the moment (and by this strange woman), he felt the need to provide a justification for himself immediately. “Th-th-th-they can’t k-kill you w-without you knowing, and… um…” He shifted his gaze downwards, and his voice softened.

“I-i-i-if you’re pathetic enough to get caught in a t-trap and beg for your life… then there’s no honor to be had killing you.” He cleared his throat and smiled thinly, though it was more a grimace than anything. He hadn’t actually meant to tell her that, but it had been more a reflex than anything. A deep shame welled up inside him, and the smile faltered.

“So, ah… here I am. Honorless Stick-Man, I think was the name. Destined for Vthul and all that. Oh, um… Orcish Void. The place where the people without honor go when they die.” He’d been fascinated with orcish culture, and therefore had read a lot about it, including Verkent's Lexicon, the most complete orcish language volume in human hands, though it was admittedly still far from comprehensive. It had saved his life, it turned out, but that didn’t make him feel any better about the whole situation. Who liked to learn once and for all that they were a coward, really?

"... Oh," Evie said, a blush bleeding into her own face. For a few more moments, she didn't move, simply staring into his face at the blush worked its way across hers. At least, until she realized she was still holding his face. "Oh! I'm sorry," she sputtered, taking her hands away from his face but hesitating again. Before dropping back down to her side, she gave him a gentle tap on either cheek as an apology of sorts. "So sorry," she repeated, dropping her gaze to her feet. "It's jus' that... It's jus'," It was clear that it was no her turn to start fumbling over her words.

"Well, it's jus' I don't find many people the orcs let go. Ye a lucky one indeed, even if ye were caught in a trap." Evie's hand then covered her mouth as her gaze into the intensified, obviously thinking about something. "If they let ye go, then they were already full. That's why they let 'em go instead of eatin' em. If they came this far east and set out traps, they were probably huntin', and if they're full now, they're probably goin' to head back west." With that realization, she pressed her fist into an open hand and breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good."

Soon, her eyes rose back up to meet Ephraim's face and she hesitated again. She stared at him like a deer would in the middle of the light and the blush came rushing back. "Oh! I'm sorry stranger! I was lost in me thoughts for a moment. Right. Well. I'm makin' a right mess of this." She said, rubbing her face in embarrassment. "Right, how about as an 'I'm sorry' I take a look at ye foot? That's gotta hurt, right?" She said, backing up and going to Meister's pack.

"Maybe while I do that, ye can tell me how you know of the Hundoht and Vthul? They aren't words commonly heard in... Well, Common." There was stutter in her step before she spun around, her hands raised in an apology, "Not that there's anythin' wrong with that, I'm jus'... Curious is all. Sorry. Still makin' a right mess of this. I'll hush." She said, dutifully going to Meister's pack.

For a moment, Ephraim wondered if he hadn’t finally met someone who was just as bad at talking to people as he was. It seemed unlikely, and yet, well… the evidence was present. Once he looked at things that way, it was a little easier to relax, though admittedly he still wasn’t sure he trusted a total stranger near his injury. But really, if she’d meant to do him harm, she surely would have chosen a different method than this. The situation was almost too absurd to be wary of, though his paranoia did put up a fight all the same.

Reaching around for the back of his neck, he rubbed his nape in a roughly thoughtful kind of way, tilting his head back and forth from one side to another, a gesture of ambivalence, or at least some reservation. She seemed to know a lot about orcs, too, though perhaps not the same things. Her knowledge was admittedly much more practical than his. “Um… books?” He ruffled the hair on the back of his head slightly, causing it to stick out at odd angles before it slowly settled back down a bit. “I, er… read. A lot, I mean. Or I do when I’m in a town with a library, anyway.”

That managed a little chuckle and also managed to shake the blush out her face. "A library huh? Cannae say we have many of those too far out this way." When she turned around, she had a waterskin around her neck, a few leaves of various types, a bowl, and a strip of cloth. "Cannae say we read a whole lot meself, d'ye carry many books on ye?" She asked. She looked at the ingredients in her hand and explained, "Dried herbs and water for a poultice. It's not poison or anythin', it'll ease the pain and discomfort and let it heal faster."

Returning to him and taking a seat beside his leg, where she then began to crush the leaves in the bowl with a stick and some water. She paused for a moment, before she closed her eyes and blushed again. "I'm sorry, I'm so forgetful. After all this, and I still dinnae have your name," she said, opening her eyes back up and looking at him with a hint of embarrassment in her face.

“Oh, uh. No, that’s my fault. Ephraim. My name is Ephraim.” He cleared his throat again, still feeling that ever-present edge of awkwardness, but he’d seen people make medicine this way before, when he was just a child, and so he knew that it looked basically right, at least. He wasn’t really sure what to do about the fact that he still wasn’t clear on how all this had come about or how to act at all, but he figured keeping up a steady stream of conversation, no matter how stilted, had to be better than awkward silence.

“I don’t carry a lot of books. They’re too heavy. I do have a couple, though.” He might have said more, but an impatient hissing reminded him that there was still rabbit stew on the fire, and it was now boiling over. “Oh shoot! Just a second.” He leaned to the side again, trying not to move his injury much, and used the handle of the spoon to hook the pot, taking it off the fire with a deftness surprising in one so gangly.

“Would you, ah… like some stew? It’s rabbit, and some wild vegetables and so on. Nothing fancy, but… well, I’d feel better about accepting your help if you ate some.”

"Oh. Uh. Sure," she answered, some reservations in her voice, "I mean, if ye have enough, that is. I dinae want to take ye meal an' all. But first, this ankle," she said, smearing the herb paste onto the cloth. "Bear with me for a tick, It'll be a little cold. Helps with the swellin' ye see?"

[Gray]

---

Freelands.
Creid village... hating every second of it.
Noon.

---

“So, have you seen her lately?”

“No.”

“Heard from her?”

“No.”

“Care to find out what she’s been up to?”

“No.” Adriel had a conundrum. Hiverian, his oldest brother had just gotten back from an assignment. This was unfortunate only in the fact that Hiverian loved Lief, the pair’s niece. She was a nice girl, with plenty of skill, eagerness to learn about Elven culture, and good parentage… or at least halfway there on that last bit. The problem came from the other half. The “Filthy Human Half” as Adriel so eloquently put it. Hiverian did not care about such things. He was blind, and therefor couldn’t see the not so pointed ears, and the obvious resemblance to a human that Adriel could see. Then again, most elves tended not to notice either of these traits, and assumed Adriel was just being picky.

“Sure would be nice if you went and looked for her. You know, check up on the family. See how a poor girl is doing out there in Half-ling country. Falon did just kind of leave her there…” Hiverian trailed off as if Adriel was supposed to give in at this time.

And he did.

Hiverian was a master at guilt tripping. For one so old, and lively as Hiverian, It was easy to see how many believed he should have long-since moved on from such petty traits. At times, it almost seemed as if he was the youngest of the brothers, and not Adriel. “Fine. I’ll go look for your precious Leif, but I swear by all of the spirits in this forest, that I do not care if she is alive or dead. If she’s married off to some half-ling by now you’ll hear no complaints from me.” Halfling country was what happens when creatures with no respect for the world come together and try to fuck everything up. They plow more fields than they need, smoke more plants than necessary, and butcher and eat far more living creatures than things three times their size need to survive. It was an archaic world with no form of government, utter anarchy and chaos, and Adriel hated every second he was forced to wander off into their midst. They did have one thing right though, those Halflings had gotten their grubby little fingers on some strawberry seeds last summer, and Adriel had never been more torn about visiting their society since.

In truth, Adriel did care about his niece. She was a wonderful elf. Naturally talented, and full of wonder that an Elf needs to be successful. She was well on her way to becoming one of the greatest elves the world would ever know… if only half of her didn’t slow her down. Adriel oftentimes had to force himself to overlook the human part. In fact, whenever he saw Lief, Adriel was reminded that he did love his brother’s child. He accepted her as full elf. But when he was away, it was easy to hate on her flaws. Even those that were none of her faults. Why couldn’t Falon have found a nice elven woman?

The elf placed his hands on either side of his hair, and using a bit of magic perked it straight up. The Mohawk was an elven symbol of warriors. It was used to scare other beings, and made the elves look all the more imposing. While normal elven society would never wear one (preferring long hair and braids) Adriel loved this style. He believed it made him look tougher to those untrained in combat. Leaving his brother’s side, Adriel moved from tree branch to tree branch, finding berries as he passed, and smashing them up in his hand. With a bit of magic, they would become fearsome face-paint. Adriel wanted to scare those housing his niece, make them aware that they were being watched at all times. Hopefully their fear would make them less likely to check their gardens for a few days, and not notice the stolen strawberries.

Half-ling country was forever away. Even Adriel who prided himself on being ungodly quick believed this trip to take longer than it should. But, it was probably due to the dread of going there. The country had little in the way of trees. Most had been cut down for fields long ago. The remaining trees were merely decoration. Second thought in the minds of those disgusting creatures. Adriel moved like the wind though, eager to complete his brother’s mindless quest, and to get on with his days of waiting for his next assignment. For another chance to strike back at humanity. His daydreams mostly, were about this same topic. Always eager to improve his life, and rid the world of more nuisances. It was thanks to his love of daydreaming that Adriel thought up ways to improve his efficiency and his speed. Heck, he even figured out a way of never having to ride a mount again.

And then he saw it.

Through the gaps of tree branches lay a quiet community. The smell of plowed earth, and gardening was bountiful. The pungent smell of mulch was an affront to everything Adriel considered sacred. “Oh why Falon. Why here?” The clearing at Creid was almost too much to bare. The white picket fences, the chatting between neighbors, the setting up for yet another stupid garden party. When will these creatures ever get their priorities straight? As Adriel hung on a branch on the outskirts of town, his eyes fixated on the community.

Lief had been left with a cheerful family known as the Gloxfords. Older, fatter, and incessantly cheery, this family was to keep Lief out of trouble, and apparently shield her from her Elven roots forever. If she stayed with them, there was little hope for the young half-breed. But what was Adriel to do? Adopt her? Even if he wanted to, Adriel didn’t exactly see himself as having children, or being the best bet to take care of a young woman. His gaze fell upon the Gloxford farm. Taking a deep breath, he jumped from his perch, and quickly moved to the front porch of the dwelling. Like many if not all residences here, it was made out of a large hill. The village, to most eyes, would seem perfect. Yet to the Elf’s this was an impoverished nation, who desperately needed help from others to keep their way of life.

Knock. Knock.

A fat round erm…woman, answered the door. Adriel had met this woman before when he came to check on his niece. “Is Lief home? I am here for the customary visit.”
Normally the woman would exclaim how Lief was off pestering rangers, or playing with other kids, but this time, the expression looked sullen. Grim even. “’Fraid not. Not seen Lief in ages.”

“Excuse me. I’m afraid I didn’t understand.”

His expression sank. Adriel’s eyes peered from under the face paint, into the poor woman’s soul. This was a face that humans had the displeasure of seeing. “She left long ago. I meant to send a note in the post, but you Elves don’t really have a post do you?”
If there was a word to describe Adriel’s rage, he did not know it. What part of staying safe did his niece not understand? What part of keep this poor Elven child safe did this woman not understand. “Perhaps it is customary in your shitty culture, to let your younglings die at the hands of wolves, or trolls, or whatever fearsome beasts have the pleasure of eating your kind alive. But this is no stupid half-ling we’re talking about. This is my niece. Where did she go?”
The woman looked like she had just met the grim reaper much too early. “She… she said she wanted to find her father.”

“For goodness sake! If it was that easy. I would have done it. Even Hiverian would have done it, and he’s blind! Is your entire village incompetent? Or did Falon just have the misfortune of leaving Lief with the one creature who’s brain is too small to realize how important a task this is.” Oh Adriel was mad, he was pissed. Rarely did he get the chance to utter his disapproval. Normally he just solved these kinds of problems with bloodshed. As much as he would like to massacre this entire village, the council would definitely think lesser of him, and Adriel too would believe it to be an awful solution.

“Well…” the Halfling spoke clearing her throat. She looked as if she were about to cry. “This isn’t a prison. I can’t keep her here.” Without uttering another word, Adriel turned around, and stormed off. He’d need to find his niece, and bring her back to civilization. Clearly living amongst all these idiots had given her an idiotic idea of her own. There would be punishment on the Gloxford home though. This was not an option. Mrs. Gloxford would find her entire strawberry patch robbed the next morning. Every last bud.

[Wudgeous]

---

Dorelith
Citha
Late Morning
Her Grace Cassia D’ivore

---

She tested the taste of blood from her fingertips to her tongue. It was a gesture none too infrequent for the princess, and oftentimes it was tamer than it seemed. This time, she was in the confines of her chamber, silk and fur hanging lazily from her skin. No cause for alarm; she had encouraged her mice to nip at her fingers until they got at more than nail and surface skin.

The frontmost corner of her tongue seemed most receptive to the quiet droplets. Drawing her hand away, she observed the flush of her skin gather again at the small wound, exiting, spreading, spilling, all on a minuscule scale.

What was she was reduced to, experimenting with mice? Why yes, she had nofuckingthing else to do. She was damn near ready to start praying to *Aule like all the other lunatics in the castle, she was so bored.

*Of course she wouldn't, because she rather turned her nose at the idea of being healed and necromanced and whatever else. Miracles were unnatural and horrible, like medicine and prospering gardens in the winter. Things needed to die sometimes. People needed to die all the time.


Nipping at her finger with her own teeth, she again considered running away and chucking herself into the coliseum. But they would drag her back, as they always did. Scratching and screeching. She could never figure out why. Why keep one D'ivore, instead of... however many there were before? But she could scamper off and likely get in a few rounds before they find her. Maybe take someone's arm as a trophy, or lose one of her own.

They wouldn't let her keep a trophy arm, would they? Damn it all.

Another jousting tournament was not too far off, which kept her ideas from being further desperate and seedy. That adviser would be popping his head in on the matter soon, no doubt. Not literally--that would delight and intrigue her far too much--but he'd pop his head in, around when she'd settled down and bounced onto a vanity cushion, and ask something like, "Registered for the next joust, then?" And he'd ask if she had used her false name, as she always did. Of course I did, you rotting imbecile, she would growl, because no one would fight her if she paraded in with her full noble title. And yes, she'd enlisted a few other women to join the tournament, so that even if contenders had a whiff of a princess in their ranks, they would not immediately denounce that one, the only female there, let's go easy on her and withdraw. Ha! If someone said such intolerable things to her, she would make them squirm in a pool.

...It was a bit odd that man was still adviser come to think of it. Maybe that was his name, Adviser. What a stupid name.

Soon her personal slave, too, would enter the room and attempt to tend to Cassia's hair, because obviously she had to look presentable when...

When...?

It wasn't as if she received guests. How stupid. She had no reason to have her hair tended. Was she trying to grow a garden on her head? No. Still, Blathnat was the only one of the nest-hive of castle slaves and servants that Cassia has let by unscathed--hence, personal slave.

Blathnat the personal slave used to be more fun--she would play straight man and tell Cassia how this idea was bad and that idea was worse, and it would always be so funny because Cassia would never listen. Lately, Blathnat would criticize her ideas, and she would mean it when she said it, which wasn't very nice of her.

For now, Cassia decided as she heard footsteps from the hall, she would be calm and await the tournament. She had no one else to really talk to, after all.

[Gray]

Dorelith||Silibard||Night time||Aradrin & Bear

---

---

It was late when Bear Bringswood reached the outskirts of Creid. The tiny village seemed silent, save for the warm orange glow in the distance at the old Dalebell farm. “They must be havin’ a gala.” These roads were different than those he had come from. Here the cobblestone ended and the well-worn dirt began. There were more hills here too. Yet every hill, every rock, and every blade of grass seemed nostalgic. Bear knew immediately he was home. The man was unlike most halflings. Halflings do not travel. They don’t adventure, and they most certainly come back in worse shape than when they left. Creid was a tiny village, yet everyone here knew each other, and each while distinctively different shared one common core, they didn’t leave the safety and sanctity of the valley.

Bear, however, was different. Not only was he coming back from an adventure; he was also about to go right onto another when his business here was finished. The summer air in the valley was perfect for farming. Those who’d be staying here would undoubtedly have a great farming season. In many ways, this made the burden on Bear’s mind all the greater. Here he was, a Dwarf, and he was about to go on the greatest undertaking of his life; war. War to Halflings is a foreign word. If they had their own language, the word would not be included. How were those in his village going to understand what Bear was about to do. The gossipers, the children… his parents. In this tiny little village, everyone knew everything.

They’d know he’d come back defeated too. Currently, the bearded male wore only scraps of clothing. It was a far cry from what he had gone on his most recent adventure in. No more armor, and the weapons he had brought were lost too. Before the little Dwarf went out to war, he’d have to make damn sure he’d have the right equipment. The Gorman’s farm was coming into view now. As the trail winded through the valley, Bear knew only three more houses stood before him and his home.

The Bringswood’s lived close to the center of town. A large river (on a Halfling scale) flows nearby their farm. In terms of land, the Bringswood estate had the third largest farm in the village. What it lacked in size, however it made up in quality. Well plowed fields, and fertile soil had made for some of the most productive yields in Creid. The old farm was coming into view. It was sat inside a large hill. A fully hewn steel-wood door bearing the Bringswood crest, and holding the tiniest slot you’ve ever seen for mail, were among the only indications of this being a dwelling. There were windows sat inside this hill, and some had candles flickering nearby. Behind the hill sat large fields, and a barn (which would have looked more like a shed to most Big-folk). Bear’s destination was there.

It took Bears stumpy little legs another twenty minutes to reach the barn. Here, all of his old things were still in place. His favorite anvil, his favorite hammer, and many raw materials he had stored over the years. Some were quite rare. Some were so rare, they’d be able to buy this entire property. Bear had saved them for a time of dire emergency, for a time when the threat of extinction has levied against “Dwarven Culture”. Now though, Bear faced something equally great. His first life or death adventure. It was one where he might never come back to see his little farm, and little barn, and little tools ever again. It was time to make his finest works.

Everything from the wood to the materials had to be decidedly chosen. An expert’s eye was required to check the temperature, and make sure the metals melted just right. Too hot, and the metals might crack. Bear had been making weapons and armor, for a lifetime. His skills were good enough that only a few hours per piece, was required to make a masterwork. By the time morning rolled around, a once-full box of impossibly rare materials, had been reduced to scrap. But, by the time the sun was approaching noon, there was a new set of Dwarven armor, bearing a crest of a Bear. There was also a single silver sword (well by Big-folk standards it would have been a short sword, at best.) It was beautiful. While sheathed the weapon looked almost ethereal sitting upon a crafting table. “Maid of Honor” was to be its name. But this weapon was in no way meant for a male’s hands. The handle was slender, and the weapon lighter than most of Bear’s bulkier pieces.

Which reminded the Dwarf of something. His weapons were inside the house. These were axe’s which Bear had made as a testament to his skill. They had never seen the sting of battle before. Placing his remaining materials inside a large trunk, and placing his smith tools inside it as well, Bear stacked both this trunk, and anvil on his back. With a few lumbering steps the Dwarf found himself inside his childhood home. He meant to be stealthy. To quietly grab his axes from his bedroom, and sneak out before his parents were alerted. Alas! What a fool he had been.

“Cubby! Is that you Pumpkin?” His face flushed beet red. Taking his axes, he placed them on his belt, near his hammer, and carefully walked out of his room. “Uh, yeah. It’s me, dad.” Haverty was standing near the door. The sweet smell of vanilla weed filled the air from a pipe. Cooper was next to rise, and his footsteps (loud for a Halfling) could be heard in the bedroom. “Cubert’s home!” Cooper came to join his partner near the door, wearing a floral vest as bright as the sun. “What’s wrong, Cub? You look sad.” Bear knew he’d have to face this moment. He’d been dreading it since he got back. “Dad… Dad, I got somethin’ I want to tell the both of ya’. I’m goin’ ta war, and there’s nothin’ ya can do to stop me. I thought this over, but there’s a nice lady I gave my word to and she expects me to come back to fight the good fight.”

His parents, were obviously hit hard by this. Haverty’s pipe shook a bit. His breath intensified on the wooden piece. Cooper pretended he hadn’t heard right, playing with the buttons on his vest. Their son had always been a bit bold, but never had anyone in the village seriously considered war. “Are… are you sure?” Of course he was sure. He owed his life to Iphigenia, but he couldn’t tell them of his time being a slave. “I’m sure dad. I got to be firm on this.” He could no longer bear the thought of upsetting them. Within an hour, he’d left his dwelling, and was onto a winding stretch of road. From this point, it’d take the little guy a few weeks to find the camp.

---

It would be night time by the time he finally saw the torches of the camp. They were being put out now, but thankfully Bear had already found them.

---

---

"How dare you? My mother was a nice Lady!" The insult to the woman (and himself) who'd given birth to him didn't affect him. That cocky smile you often found on his face, was there now and his opponent was lying on the ground, gasping for air. He wasn't dead, no, just momentarily incapacitated. Killing someone in a place like this drew far too much attention, but Aradrin Soreyn would not have his honor questioned by the likes of the man on the ground. Or anyone in the establishment in which he found himself, really.

He had been playing a game of cards with the man. The stakes were high and Ari didn't have a penny to his name. The lure of the prize was too great for him to resist though, and so he had to play. Fortunately, he won. The outcome wasn't what he had expected.
No sooner had he collected the coins and stuffed them in the leather pouch in his belt, before he'd been assaulted. Given that his opponent was larger than him, he'd figured that it'd be easy enough to beat seven colours of shit out of Ari and take his money back.He was wrong. "Really? People like you have friends?

The three (just as large) men who entered the room looked at him and cracked their knuckles, necks and other various joints. Probably to intimidate.
Alright, you've still got your money. Be smart. Vastly outnumbered, too close quarters and no friends to help. If only this had been closer to Darkwood Keep, he would've had someone who could help. "Would he? I wonder if Th-" He was cut off by one of the men who shouted some nasty insult at him and started moving. Ari didn't have time to finish his thought before he had to do something. "Well, this has been wonderful! Wonderful, I say!" A few steps toward the window. "But..." A dramatic pause was always good. "I must take my leave." And with that he let himself fall backwards out the window and landed (to his own surprise - this had gone wrong before) on his feet.

You could only live off prizes from card games for so long. In the years since his escape from the Messiah Queen, he had been too afraid to take up actual work somewhere. Partially because he doesn't want to remotely have anything to do with something that could potentially help the Queen, and also because he didn't want to get recognised. Few people would recognise him, but it was a chance he didn't want to take.

"So you've stooped to this? Lord of Eres Adrin." Aradrin said in a mocking tone. It was dark already in this small town, and it was dripping. It smelled nice, but it made the town look more awful, dreary and boring than it was. Ari set off in a light jog through the streets. more than ready to get the hell out of there.

---------------------------------------------------------------

For weeks had he been searching and searching and searching. It went on and on, but the tracks and clues he seemed to find that might indicate where they were, ended up leading him nowhere. Truth be told, he'd been searching for years, but it wasn't until a few weeks ago that he decided to get himself together and actively, constantly search for his Queen. His Queen, mind you.
Ever since that night where he'd won all that money, no one had seen him in town except for when he bought provisions. Aradrin was getting closer now. He could feel it. Something was happening.

Your help would be welcome here, Ser Vael. The exiled noble thought to himself as he sat at the edge of the forest, looking at the dimming torches and watching guards walk around putting them out. You and your sensing things. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he popped another piece of dry bread into his mouth.
With his hood up and with the help of the trees and the darkness, he was almost impossible to see where he was sitting, giving him the opportunity to study the camp before doing anything. It was good to be certain that this was the right place, so he didn't walk into the Inquisitor Trainee Field Trip. He'd had enough of them.

---

---

The guards had steadied after some time. With most of the exterior torches doused, those on patrol duty would find it easier for their eyes to adjust to the dark. Of course, Bear had no problem walking right in. He knew most of these guys; the ex-gladiator who Bear used to take blows from in the ring was now on wall duty. Another who used a net, and Bear found himself never having an upper hand against, now held a bow his fingers poised on a notched arrow. Bear had found himself an empty tent inside the walls of the fortress. Those pinnacle to the cause slept inside, but Bear had just been a slave, he was of no real importance here. There were many slaves more valuable than him, and that was part of the reason Bear came back. He wanted to prove himself, and his race.

Upon unloading his torrent of goods into his tent (which was quite sizable being made for big-folk and all) Bear sat down on a nearby tree stump, and took out his old carving blade. Now in the stillness of the night, with high walls protecting him, the dwarf could finally take the time and whittle him a decent pipe. Whittling was an engrossing hobby, it let the little man think and plan his steps. If there was one thing he wanted to do in this army it would be to be of use. He could see himself doing this in two ways. The first was by acting as a shield. He’d work his way up the ranks, and finally be of use to Iphigenia the woman with the golden mind.

The second way, was forging. Bear was a hell of a smith, and far better than many of these men would ever guess. At night, it would be impossible to make out every minute detail of Bear’s armor, but in the day it would shine brighter than a torch. He’d never made for big-folk though, but given enough practice and that would change. All he’d have to do is convince them to give him a shot at whatever passed for a forge room in a derelict camp such as this. It’s a shame he had never built battlements, as the walls here could certainly use them. His knife bit into a tiny block of stone the new pipe would be fashioned from. He was working on the long, smooth, shaft when Bear heard commotion from some of the guards.

There was someone outside of the camp walls. A soldier with keen eyes must have spotted him! Bear gripped his larger axe. Placing it alone on his back, the dwarf moved closer to the gate to hear what all the commotion was. “I swear I saw him, I swear there’s a man out there.” ”A man huh?”[i] Bear had wanted a chance to prove himself. A chance to show he was really worthy to join the cause. What better way, than by finding a near invisible man in the dark. Without asking questions, and while gripping his axe, the dwarf ran from the gates.

Forest terrain is worse for Dwarves than humans. Tree roots which are annoying and easily tripped over, are hurdles for Dwarves. So a forest, with many tangling roots, in the dark, is not the best battle field. The male ran through what he could before launching himself over a root. He honestly had no clue where he was going, but certainly hoped shouting proved effective. “I know you’re out here, Come! Show yourself and we will tussle like real men!”

---

---

Less torches were now lit, the guards were still there, and Aradrin was still in his spot. “She moves around a lot. That’s wise. Makes them difficult to find.” He mumbled to himself, smirking. If there was one thing he looked forward to, it was meeting Iphigenia. In his mind that’d be soon. Of course, once they heard his name they would know who he was. Sometimes Ari forgot that most people thought he was dead. Eres Adrin fell to the Messiah Queen a long time ago. Nevertheless, he was sure she’d welcome him. Or was he sure? If he was then he would be already in that camp and sitting, drinking wine with his Queen. His brows furrowed and the man sighed.


Despite their moving around constantly, the guards had not become lax it would seem. By the few that stood by light, it was clear that they were freedmen and not some belonging to the Messiah Queen. He had to get in there without bloodshed. It’d be a poor first impression and he wasn’t sure if the guards were so strung up that they would swing their swords before asking questions.
Aradrin stood up abruptly, turned and took three steps and then turned back around as if the decision he had to make was getting harder and harder.

A tenth of a second before he started walking towards the camp, something happened. Someone came storming out of the gate, towards the spot he had been in. Aradrin stepped behind a large oak tree nearby and hoped the dark would conceal him. It was one man, or, half-man. It was something. It was…
His head titled to the side in confusion and the grip on his sword hilt loosened.
This was confusing and amusing all at the same time and Ari… Ari can’t help himself.

“Alright, you’ve caught me! Just…” He stifled a chuckle by biting his knuckle. “Back away slowly,” It was obvious that he was just about to break. “You don’t stand half a chance!” The fact that he had actually said that made it all the more funny and Aradrin broke out in hysterical laughter.
There was a chance that the… Person, on in the dark was armed, so he managed to regain control a moment or two later and step out from his cover.

Stomach muscles still sore from laughing, relaxed and not on his guard, Ari had not expected what happened next. “Alright, alright!” Hoping that this could be resolved quietly only proved that, in this regard, he was wrong. “Oh, fu-"

---

---

There he was! The bandit, the coward. Sneaking around in the dark like a villain waiting for the chance to kill the one good shot humanity had at taking down the closest thing they’d ever known to an evil overlord. Of course, Bear cared not about that. Or about the fact that the Messiah Queen was actually evil. No. All Bear cared about was that someone had been sneaking around Iphigenia’s camp. That was enough to send the normally stoic, and quite sensible (these attributes were completely biased) half-man into a frenzy!
And if that wasn’t enough, the fiend was laughing at the sight of Bear!

OH! The shame, the half-humanity! How could anyone be so cruel as to laugh at Bear’s proud form, and mighty figure? Sure, he wasn’t the tallest man. But he had the bushiest beard of any living creature Bear’d ever seen, and that had to count for something. The laughter only drove Bear into a full on tantrum. With gusto the Dwarf threw himself from the road and into the sneaking fiend.

“Nobody laughs at a Dwarf!”

Bear might be small, but he was quite hefty. There were decent sized rocks which weighed less than him. Add on some heavy armor, and thirty pounds of axes, and a body which was only tall enough to hit center mass, and the rocket-formerly-known-as-Bear was quite a force.

He impacted the soldier with a dull thud. If bear didn’t know any better, he’d say that armor might have been smashed, and if the fiend was so unlucky, maybe even a couple of ribs.
“Laughter was part of me’ strategy.” Bear said defiantly, as his feet hit the ground, and his hand now gripped for the smaller of the axes. “So, how would you like to see the warden, or leader, or whatever passes for warden or leader in this camp?”

Unfortunately the Dwarf didn’t know anything about how the camp was structured, he only just got back. However, there were footsteps approaching. Soldiers from the fort, eager to see the commotion. Hopefully Bear got himself a nice pat on the head from Iphigenia for this. Or, well any kind of appreciation would be good, for one so small he certainly liked being noteworthy.

---

---

The first thing that entered Ari’s mind was the fact that he’d always been taught never to underestimate his opponents. Then he snapped out of it when he felt the ache in his side. He’d received a shoulder to the ribs. An armoured shoulder. With a surprising amount of force behind it. Surprised. That would be the key word here.

Aradrin sucked in a few breaths of precious air and looked up, dazed and confused. Standing over him with an axe in his hands was the tackler. “You are…” Aradrin sighed, letting his head hit the ground before he forced himself to sit up and look at the half-man. “The hairiest thing I have ever seen.” A jolt of pain shot through his side. He raised his left hand and motioned in front of Bear’s face with it and said. “Why doesn’t all that act as a cushion?” He was part annoyed of having been tackled like that, and part annoyed because he’d let it happen. “I’d like to not see the warden at all… I have a problem with chains."

He’d had the wind knocked out of him in a way he had never tried before. While he sat there and tried to steady his breath and figuring out if he had broken anything, it struck him. What was this person in front of him? Dwarves didn’t exist. Or, well, he’d never seen one. And never met anyone who claimed to have seen one. It wasn’t a child. Far too hairy for that. A really, really short man? Technically that’d be a dwarf...

“Put the axe down, I’m not here to.. Wait, why did you tackle me?” The look of confusion on his face had definitely not lessened. Aradrin slowly got to his feet and leaned against a tree, hearing the sound of footsteps closing in. “I suppose I’ll get to meet the queen now?” He exhaled deeply and winced in pain.
One more look at the person next to him didn’t answer the question of what he was. The closest answer was dwarf, but that was unlikely. The guards who’d heard the commotion appeared through the brush and quickly pointed the weapons at Ari. “Easy, now.” He said and tried his best at a smile to convince them he was friendly. “Let’s just-“ Swiftly, two men pushed him down to his knees and clasped his hands in chains.

Another took his sword and dagger and pushed him with his spear, to make him move forward. “Did you call your friends?” Aradrin asked the half-man. “You’re equally talkative.”
He realised then that he had asked so many questions immediately after their encounter, that he hadn’t given Bear the opportunity to reply.

[i]I had hoped to meet the Queen with some dignity. It’d make it easier to convince her of who I really am.

---

---

This captive sure was a talkative one. But, those who met Bear normally were. Those who got tackled by Bear however… well the Dwarf couldn’t remember the last time anyone had gotten up after one of his flying tackles. It had taken the man a few years to perfect that technique. Normally, he used it to slam into the nether-regions of Great bears, and take them down a few pegs. Bear himself, seemed roughly uninjured from the assault. His heavy armor and dedication to technique (or lack thereof) seemed to cushion most of his blow. “I might be the hairiest and the tiniest thing you’ve ever seen. But I’m also the Dwarfiest… I’ll work on that last part.” Bear didn’t know much when it came to ill will, once a scrap was completed, he was back to his good spirits.

However, the sounds of marching boots had come to interrupt this scuffle. Bear had hoped to go a few rounds with this night stalker, maybe take a few blows and measure the worth of his opponent. But, that was not to be. The soldiers ran in unison. Unlike Bear, they hadn’t stumbled on the scraggly roots of the trees here. Their clearance was good enough to step over tiny obstacles. Soldiers from the camp were mostly, if not entirely, freed slaves. Even when trained to be soldiers they had a long way to go till they lost their brutish gladiator style of fighting. Of course, once they got close enough to identify the situation, they treated the captive like an animal. Their capture was rough, but Bear knew to expect such things. “Are the chains really necessary? The man said he didn’t like chains. “ Bear put his axe to his side, and began to lean on it. His hands fiddled for a pipe and some Halfling weed before putting it in his mouth and lighting it.

Of course, Bear knew he was in no place to be giving orders. These men had stayed with the troupe while the Dwarf had gone home. If he could have demanded, he’d have told them to take this prisoner directly to Iphigenia. But it never hurt to ask. These men in particular Bear had met before. They were all slaves with the Dwarf back in the pens. So, he figured, at the very least he could ask them to do him a simple favor. “Could ya tell Iphy I’m back, and I caught her a prisoner? Oh! And I made her a present too. It’s as pretty as she is. And a damn sight prettier than any rose ya’d find ‘round here.”

One of the men Bear knew by name. In the pens, the others had called him the ravager. He was big, hulking muscles, and bald. Rarely did he wear armor, preferring an all-out attack to defense. Bear and the Ravager had met once before on the fields of battle. They had managed a tie, only because Bear had a style which relied on shielding himself from blows. Even with their sordid history, however, there was still respect between these two men. But, this didn’t mean that the man would be delivering every word of Bear’s message. No, Bear would have to deliver the finer details himself. Not many survived the Ravagers swords, and those that did could rely on him to be a comrade. A solid grunt would be all the confirmation of this request. No doubt the prisoner would be brought to a tent, or holding cell of some kind. But, at least Iphigenia would be the first to know.

“I’ve done all I can for ya, night man. If you ever get yourself out of this situation, come on by for another fight. You’ve got spirit, and you’d probably do a damn sight better on me than most.” Bear was all for compliments. Even, if the situation wasn’t the best of times to say them. Following the men to the base, Bear would finally have time to establish himself around the camp. He didn’t know how his life would change from here on out, but he was sure it’d be better than it was before.

[Talisman]

The Freelands

Aecian Mountains

Noonish

Gehenna and Balthazar

---

Fool.

He was a fool, leading them both into the mountains on a hunch that a hydra might make its roost there. Because of that Gehenna was relegated to seeking out likely caves large enough for one of the creatures to nest inside from the air. If that was all there was to it then it would've have made it somewhat bearable, but what made the whole endeavor increasingly frustrating was the sheer volume of caves found in the Aecians. This compounded by the fact that a hyrda was not a common creature that isn't just happened upon, Gehenna's mood was becoming more and more foul with each empty cave they searched.

A pair of jet black wings tilted in the wind, and Gehenna slipped into a thermal, and with flap of those wings she was brought high enough into the air to survey the land beneath. From her bird's eye view, she saw a pair of caves, though only one had a mouth wide enough to hold the creature they were searching for. Mentally noting its location, her wings flapped as they tilted to the opposite side, slipping out of the thermal and turning her around. Angled toward the ground, she fell and experienced the rush of a free fall until a few more expertly timed flaps slowed her descent.

Not slow enough, unfortunately for Balthazar, as she suddenly dropped out of the sky and blew just over his head. Behind him, with a flurry of feathers she shifted back into her human form. Before he even had the time to turn around, Gehenna was already there pressed against his back. With her chin resting on his shoulder, a slender arm raised and pointed in the direction of the cave and spoke, her tone not betraying the frustrations she felt.

"There is a cave with a mouth large enough to hold our prey in that direction."

Bathazar did not seem especially shocked at her actions, not even doing her the courtesy of tensing under her grip like a properly frightened or otherwise rigid victim. Instead, he flicked his eyes sideways, glancing down at her profile from their corners and raising a brow. "Is that so?” Returning his eyes to the front, he tilted his head in the direction she’d indicted and pulled in a long, deep breath. There was a slight disturbance in the air around him, a little ripple of magic, and one corner of his mouth subtly turned up.

"Smells promising. Am I to go forth with you still attached, or are you planning to relinquish your grip at some point in the near future?” His tone was quite mild; nothing in it suggesting even the faintest trace of her own irritation.

"Our dear Witch King, we are not stopping you from going anywhere that you desire," Gehenna said, lifting her chin off of his shoulder. "It would be difficult for us to follow, of course, if we were to impede your progress in any way," she said, taking a step backward so as not to press against him but still remained within his personal space.

"It is only yourself that is holding you back. We simply offer a guiding hand. Now if we remember correctly, this plan of yours concerned itself with the murder of something rather dangerous, and we do wish that it would happen sooner than later." It was perhaps the closest she would get to actually admitting that she hoped the whole ordeal would be over soon, and that they could return to their base with their prize in tow. While she was indeed immortal and had the patience that implied, the act of spending hours failing to find their intended target did erode at it.

A languid sort of blink was the only direct reply Balthazar gave, and then he shrugged and walked forward, the smile long since vanished. His stride was of the ground-eating variety, the advantage of having legs so long and endurance enough to make efficient use of them. It didn’t take the pair of them more than another ten minutes to reach the cave Gehenna had spotted from the air, even accounting for the couple of times when the Witch King paused his movement and took another whiff of the air. In each instance, something behind his eyes brightened, until they were almost luminous with some unidentified something—either an emotion or a more direct magical working, it was difficult to say.

The cave entrance itself had little to recommend it. It was indeed large enough to admit a rather huge creature, but other than that, it was quite plain. From where they were standing, they could hear the steady dripping of some liquid further in, but there were no other discernible sounds save for the slight movement of air. Balthazar, however, seemed more interested in the area immediately around the cave, his nose wrinkling slightly. "’Tis a strange day, when I count the smell of drake shit to be a good sign.”

He didn’t point out the location of it, however, merely starting forward into the cave itself.

Gehenna fell silent, unwilling to dignify the last comment with a response of her own. Her mouth instead formed itself into a thin lined frown as she quietly followed him into the cave. It wasn't her job to suss out the exact location of the beast, nor was it completely up to her to slay the creature-- though from the look in the Witch King's eye, that was the way he wanted it. Her job, as it stood, was to make sure that he was able to slay the hydra without it slaying him first.

To that end, the air around her shifted and turned heavy and the scent of sulfur thickened. A veil of nebulous darkness fell and eveloped Gehenna completely, hiding her form-- though only for a moment. When it bled away, Gehenna towered over the Witch King another foot, easily. A pair of horns twirled downward from the sides of her head and inky black hair replaced the natural brown. Her skin was ashen and scarred, but most notably a pair of mottled black feathered wings pressed close against her shoulders.

"Do you have a plan for us, our dear Witch King?" She said, the bass in her voice increasing by a decibel. "We feel it would serve to remind you that we share a lifebond. So if it would please you, may we suggest you do not do anything too reckless?" A smile crept into her cracked lips in anticipation. It had been a while since she had a worthy hunt.

He seemed less responsive than normal, keeping his eyes fixed ahead of him, though there was no way he could have missed her shift. It wasn’t precisely subtle, after all. That said, he was clearly devoting minimal attention to keeping track of her, too focused, it would seem, on the dark passage ahead of them. His tread fell with little noise on the stone, though their passage was not entirely silent. Stealth wasn’t exactly the pair’s forte, after all. At length, he answered.

"I’m very good at keeping myself alive, Birdy, else I would already be dead, I assure you.” His tone was dull, flat, pitched so as to echo as little as possible in the passage they traversed. "There’s little point in a specific plan at this stage. We do not know under what circumstances we will encounter the creature. It is therefore better to remain as adaptable as possible, so as not to accidentally commit ourselves to something foolhardy.” Despite his words, his fingertips touched the pommel of the sabre he wore at his waist, almost an absent gesture.

He murmured something under his breath, and the surface of his skin, what little of it was visible, seemed to flicker, taking on what looked like an extra translucent, liquid layer. It seemed to ripple, but then the visual faded, leaving him looking unchanged. At length, he exhaled, something in the tenor of it tense.

"It is near.”

As if right on cue, as soon as they turned the next corner an angry roar echoed met them. Or perhaps roars would be more apt to describe the sound, as nine separate bellows coalesced into one single threatening sound. Before them the cave opened up into an antechamber, large enough a creature such as a hydra could call a nest. And the monster itself stood in the center, all nine black-scaled heads turned toward them with their teeth bared. "Indeed. We believe it knows we are here," Gehenna said dryly.

The hydra wasted no time in trying to kill the trespassers, taking a step forward before reeling its heads back. Gehenna knew enough of the creature to know what was coming next, and the seven foot demon became a half-pound crow. Gehenna's wings pumped hard and darted away from Balthazar and around the side as the hydra drew its acidic breath from its belly. As she tried to make her way around the creature, it threw all nine heads forward and unleashed a massive wall of acid. Even with the head start she had, Gehenna still had to dodge, and even then some of her feathers were beginning to sizzle.

It would be a lie to say that it wasn't the least bit exhilarating.

Where Gehenna had dodged, it was quite evident that Balthazar was unable to do the same. Instead, he lunged forward, his sabre ringing free of its sheath. With a broad horizontal slash, he hurled a gust of wind from the edge of the sword towards the incoming wave, the flare at the end of the swing broadening the spell from a razor-thin slash of air into something broader. He followed almost as swiftly, and when the blast his the acid wall, forcing it to part, he used the opportunity to jump through the gap he’d created, twisting himself until he was basically horizontal in midair, then landing again on his feet, safe on the other side and quite unscathed.

It appeared, however, that some of the acid had made contact. A line of the yellow-green liquid trailed down his cheek, though it did not abrade him. His cloak was another story, the entire bottom half of it eaten by the caustic fluid. A frown marred his features, and he tugged at the clasp, loosing the rest of it and letting it fall to the ground in tatters. The remainder of his armor was light, but fitted much closer to his body, and unlikely to be caught by anything that would not hit the rest of him as well.

"I was quite fond of that cloak.” His tone carried a hint of petulance, apparently not moved to fear by the presence of a creature several times his size. "Perhaps I’ll make a new one from your hide.” The blade of his sword caught fire, tongues of flame licking up towards where he held it, but there was no evidence that they burned him. The fire itself was deep red, the parts closer to the center virtually indistinguishable from black.

The faint afterimage of it was the only thing that made it possible to track the speed of his progress towards the hydra, and he cleaved into its side with a massive blow, leaving a bloody gash, wide but not particularly deep, in one of its haunches.

The hydra wailed out in pain, covering the sounds of vigorous flapping coming from Gehenna's wings. Balthazar's cleave had earned himself the entirety of the creature's wrath, causing it to momentarily forget about the crow. A crucial mistake it'd soon learn. Maneuvering in the air to get above the creature even in the low ceiling of the cave, Gehenna shifted out of her crow form and back into the devil. She pulled her wings in tight and fell down toward the creature.

As she fell, a dark red haze enveloped her hand as the air stirred with infernal magic. When she touched down on to the hydra's back, she drove downward with her hand and ripped through the skin and muscle where one of its heads connected with its body. Driving her hand deep as she could go, she then ripped it out to the side, causing one of it's heads to go limp and fall, bouncing on the hard stone floor of the cave as it struck the ground.

Her wings began to beat, and she flew backward out of the range of the creature's ire. Fortunately, it was too busy wailing in pain to reach back with one of its head and latch down on her. Back on the cave floor, Gehenna brought her bloodied hand to her face and ran her tongue across the back of her palm, a cruel smile spreading across her face. "Mmm," She hummed, the air around her radiating with infernal magic.

Of course, one head being incapacitated was far from the same thing as the creature giving up the fight. Balthazar was currently contending with the other eight, his focus seemingly consumed with ducking and weaving between them. While Gehenna could consume a hydra’s blood with no negative consequences, it was extremely poisonous to more mundane species. Fortunately, the fire he’d wreathed the sabre in served to burn away most any that would have otherwise touched him, and he appeared quite mindful of the rest, moving constantly and therefore not being caught under any unfortunate gouts.

He’d used the distraction provided by his companion to deliver several more blows, though they were less damaging than annoying to the creature. It was not for nothing that hydra were near-legends, after all. Only extremely large hunting parties had been recorded slaying one, and usually with heavy loss. There were also tales of heroes doing so, of course, but those were unverified.

A duck went slightly awry, and the hydra’s tail slammed into Balthazar’s side, sending him flying into the cave wall to its right. There was a massive cracking sound as the stone gave way beneath the Witch King’s flesh, no doubt made possible by some for of magic. The blow would doubtless have killed an unprotected man. Balthazar peeled himself out of the vertical crater he’d inadvertently created, shaking his head and blinking rapidly. His first few subsequent steps were akin to a drunken stagger, but he regained his equilibrium in time to sidestep the next head that darted out to snatch him in its jaws.

A pair of fireballs slammed into the side of the hydra in quick succession, though the damage done was negligible. However, it wasn't the damage that was the intent, but to garner its attention. A ploy that only worked somewhat. Instead of turning its remaining heads toward her, it divided its attention, and half of its heads turned toward Gehenna, and the rest remained focused on Balthazar. "So it does learn. Good, we were worried." Gehenna said with a pleased tone. It lashed out with one of its heads, causing her wings to pump once more and take her out of its reach.

It was a cunning creature however, and it wasn't until it inhaled that Gehenna realized that it forced her into a corner. She didn't have the time nor space to shift and escape. Her smile turned to a snarl and she murmured something under breath causing the air in front of her to ripple and develop a thin dark red veil. The hydra then breathed more of its acid, which collided with the veil. However, the gout lasted longer than she imagined, and soon the shield cracked under the pressure, causing Gehenna to wrap herself in her wings before the tail end of the spray washed over her.

Steam rose from her mottled feathers as they began to sizzle off of her wings. Beneath, her skin bubbled and peeled but her eyes remained a focused stark white, rage brimming in her pupilless eyes. "It dies," she swore, starting forward, the air around her thick with magic.

"And here I thought that was the whole point from the beginning.” Balthazar’s tone was surprisingly jocular, carrying well even over the assorted sounds of the battle. There may have even been a touch of smugness to it, but it was hard to say for certain. One of the other heads came in low for him, and he flipped over it, using another gust of wind to propel himself out of the way of another, one that had the brilliant idea of trying to snatch him out of the air. It would seem that the hydra learned quickly.

Unlike Gehenna, the Witch King looked to still be having quite a lot of fun, if that was even the right word. There was certainly a smile on his face, a wider one than he wore when something amused him, and when the next head came in, he darted to the side, causing it to knock into another, temporarily disorienting both. With the time it took them to recover, he drew his sidearm, the shamshir, and drove it upwards into the underside of one head’s jaw, leaning as far back as he could when blood gushed from the wound and extracting himself as soon as he felt the head slacken. He stepped backwards, and the head came crashing to the floor of the cave.

Two down, seven to go.