Re: Freedom Forsaken

[ShadowWake]

((Selan))

Selan looked at Tarn, then at Hylas, who was back already, after having been swimming around. She loved to see him happy, it made her feel cheerful. She was also glad to hear that there were faeries to the north, as well, and since that was Hylas' suggestion -going to see the faeries- and she wanted to go to the north, too, it all made sense.

"Well..." she spoke, now while thinking about the Temple location. "Since it's a temple that no one's supposed to know, or at least no human is supposed to know, I'd bet it's around the elven lands, but surely we have no one who could actually be helping us to go through that places." Selan looked into the distance, knowing that they were going on a really tough journey. "I think that while we're on our way, we will find the faeries, hopefully."

She looked at Tarn, still smiling. "I hope there's no problem with that. Going to the north, I mean."

While looking as far as her eye could see, she noticed the sun was already going down, even if they would still have some hours to walk, so she decided to try starting already. "Tarn, I believe we still have some hours until the night comes, and I think we should go already. The sooner we get there, the sooner we'll arrive. Besides, this is where Hylas was being chased, which means it's possible that they send more of them...so I'd urge us to leave, if we want to find a safe spot to sleep tonight."

She finally turned to Hylas, seeing his jerking. "Hylas, try to take one of my clothes, it's girl clothing, but I'm sure it will be good to prevent you from having cold. If you think it looks bad on you we can always cut some sleeve, or things like that." She smiled. "I wouldn't want you to catch a cold!"

Selan then looked back to where her cabin had been, and thought of her last months, as Anelia. They were all gone, now, everything was gone, she was herself once again, and she liked it.

"Indeed, let us head north. The only problem would be that I'll need a shirt ! he smirked, come, if we head off now, as you say Selan, we may still have a few hours of walking before night covers us." Tarn once again pulled up his hood, gazing around at the same time at the surroundings, wetting his finger before holding it up in the air. "We have the wind to our left ..." he stated, and then started off. As the ranger, he thought it was only logical that he stayed ahead, if only a little.

Motioning with his right hand, Tarn started their march. Hopefully, what waited for them on the other side of the horizon smiled upon them, rather than this maw that gaped all the time to try and engulf them on this side. And hopefully, there would be no kink in the road Fate had paved for these three, this family as Abileith would have to get used to calling it. Not that it bothered him, on the contrary, to be part of something, to have a child under his charge, and a goal in mind, set a smile upon his weathered, usually stony face.

The hunter was glad for the weather they had: a light breeze coming from the west, from the setting sun itself, light and delicate grass to caress their feet, the symphony of the woods to quietly soothe their ears, and appease their minds. The constant song of the birds, as they fluttered through the scented air; scented of bark and that crisp, smell of fresh air; twittering their jovial song, alarmed and calmed at the same time, so incomprehensible yet so light and, well, it touched your very being, when you decided to focus only on that.

And of course, there were the great tufts of greenery, the canopies of the trees, each one the head of a soldier in a legion, as they all swayed from this westerly, fresh breeze, the rustle of their myriad leaves complementing the whisper of the wind to form the bass, the backing of this symphony, the symphony of nature: ever present, and never quieted, not even by the villainy of man. Only fire could silence this orchestra, and none ravaged them at this time, and none would ever, Tarn hoped. And hope, that fickle emotion he'd abandoned so long ago, to place in its stead rational, or sometimes depressive, thinking. And how he now clung on to that hope, hoping to make the flickering candle that it was turn brighter than the stars that would soon dot the astral tapestry that they would sleep under as their roof. He hoped, and that was all that he needed now ...

((Aerain))

The sun was still two fingers to the horizon, a great amber orb that lit the skies in a haze of gold and set the sea of trees alight in a warm glow. Making a note of her position, her strong feathers cupping the air currents like sails, Aerain snapped her wings shut and dropped vertically through the forest canopy, just managing to open them in time to soften the landing. Startled by the faery’s sudden appearence, the creamy bay snorted and pulled against her reigns, dancing sideways as the soft leather forced her to remain next to the trunk she was tethered to.

Ensuring that her spear was still tied to her back – nestled neatly in between her wings – Aerain moved swiftly over to the mare, placing a gentle hand upon her jerking nose and claming the beast with a few short words.

Only another mile southeast, the mage told herself wearily as she untethered her mount and lifted herself easily into the saddle once more, This better be worth it.

An hour before she had left Duilliúir, the old elven mage had requested her presence and – obliged by her own personal rules – Aerain had gone.

---------

”I believe I may have been of little help, child,” the elf murmured with a wry smile and Aerain bridled at his patronising demeanor – after all he may be old, but a man that looked barely over fourty could hardly call her – a woman who looked in her thirties – a child – “You asked of the faery mages at Tumulosus and your questions of them, I am afraid I cannot answer. However, an elven mage who fought at the battle of Tumulosus is also missing and it is my opinion that he is not dead, as so many believe. His name is Lysander Ælfer: he comes from a noteworthy line of elves that reside in the forest not too far from where you will be searching...”

He paused and Aerain met his gaze with a raised eyebrow. “You want me to find him.”

The old elf rested his chin upon his fingertips, giving the faery an indulgent smile. “I simply believe that speaking to his family will aid you in your search of the faery mages,” he answered, stating each word with a chill prescision that belied the smile he bore, “And if you happen to come across him in your travels, then yes, I would be grateful if you brought it to my attention.”

Unable to do anything but agree, Aerain sighed and acknowledged the elf with a wave of her hand. Ignoring the lack of graciousness, the old mage nodded and drew a piece of parchment towards him, beckoning her closer.

“Now,” he began, “If you travel east for two days...”

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

The mare whickered softly and Aerain snapped out of her reverie to focus upon the path ahead, caramel-coloured eyes narrowed in immediate wariness. The horse’s ears twitched forward and, pulling gently on the reigns, the faery drew her to a halt, listening for what the beast had heard. As the wind wove its way through the tree canopy with a gentle hiss, she managed to pick out the sound of voices – almost loud compared to those in the villages that had felt the wrath of the Rau-lass – and swinging her leg over her mount’s rump, Aerain dismounted, hands automatically resting upon her twin swords.

Why converse so loudly unless you had nothing to hide from? That only gave two options: either she had finally found the Ælfer household or she had stumbled unknowingly upon the Rau-lass.

Creeping forwards - her booted feet hardly making a sound – Aerain gripped the worn hilts of her blades. Either way, she would not be unprepared.

[ShadowWake]

((Faedra))

The young elf maid glanced up, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully. Faedra Ælfher sat on a low marble wall, her back to a pillar and hunched over her work. In this case she was drawing Caera, elegant, refined Caera who but for the rise and fall of her chest might have been a statue. Vibrant spears of sunlight filtered through the leaves of trees, many hundreds of them and the blushing red light reflected off of the blood-hued roses surrounding her sister lent her an achingly beautiful semblance. What god or goddess could compare with her glorious, immortal sister, who needed no crown save for her hair, set afire by the sun, nor any jewel but the pale chain of ivy leaves around her slender wrists? This tantalizing beauty was what she needed to transfer to paper, this gem of the Ælfher line.

Engrossed as she was in her drawing, the maiden failed to notice that one of her many relatives had approached until a soft, masculine voice murmured, "let's see how it's been going, Faedra?" The girls head shot up like a startled hare, mossy eyes saucer-wide. "Altair!" She exclaimed. "Don't do that!" The mage laughed in response, kissing her cheek lightly. "Ah, if you could have but seen your face," he lamented.

Caera's proud head moved and with the slow languor of a cat she stretched and stood up. "Now honestly, Altair," she sniffed, "was that entirely necessary?"

"Is anything ever?" He asked seriously. The two women exchanged glances of amused exasperation. "I swear," Caera said to her younger sister, "he gets more and more like Lysie every day." A peal of laughter erupted from the other. "Isn't that the truth of it! We'd better watch out," she added with mock gravity, "or there'll be no living in this family what with him, Evander and now Altair."

"My dear," the man murmured, "If ever I become anything like our dear uncle, I give you my whole-hearted permission to shoot me." Faedra's cheeks dimpled as she took his hand in hers. Pausing for a moment, her brows furrowed in concentration the relaxed as her face grew blank, eyes rolling into the back of her head. In a low, eerie voice she intoned, "I see... I see... a mage... no, two mages..." ("out of a whole family? Well, that's helpful," Caera muttered out of the corner of her mouth) "two mages," Faedra repeated, "and one of them... is older? Yes... they're relatives... close relatives... brothers! Exactly lik--"

"Alright," Altair snarled, snatching his hand away. "I see where this is going. And please, get rid of that face, you don't even look like that when you're in a trance." Shrugging nonchalantly, the young elf reached for her abandoned quill and parchment once again, motioning that Caera return to her previous position. With a weary sigh, the elder woman moved to comply, then halted as though a puppeteer had pulled her short. Taking a careful step back, she whispered, "Altair, there's a faery female hiding amongst the pines, coming closer. She's armed, or so the trees say-- it's hard to tell, them being so different in thought. "

Eyes narrow, he paused, then raised a single hand. "Nieander, Eithne," he muttered. "Leave Trisha for a moment-- we've a slight problem." A summoned gust of wind carried the words away from the trio and indoors, were the summoned would doubtless be; their sensitive elvish ears would be able to pick up on the sound. "Diarmuid," he added, sending a second message on the wind, "come over here. Bring your friends."

When the wind-mage had been joined by the two older elves and a young boy of fourteen, flanked on either side by an abnormally docile cougar and wolf and a goshawk on his shoulder, he stepped forward and called out in lilting Common, "Who's out there! Come forth if you be a friend!"

((Aerain))

The talking suddenly stopped and Aerain cursed silently to herself. Damn mages, she huffed angrily, knowing that her steps would not have been heard and yet still they had sensed her presence. They had been speaking in elvish, but that meant nothing; every faery knew that there had been elven traitors at Tumulosus – and faery turncoats, yes, she wouldn’t forget that so easily – and it would not be so hard to gather spies even this far into their territory. Keeping still, the faery shifted her grip upon her swords, crossing her arms before her as though ready to draw.

” Who's out there?” called a voice in heavily accented Common, the low tone intonating wariness. ”Come forth if you be a friend!”

“Depends on what you mean by friend...” Aerain muttered as an aside and allowed herself to relax a little, releasing the slightly curved blades. Straightening from her poised position, she took a single step forward - enough so that her outline could be seen but the dappled sunlight barely lightening her face – and raised her palms skyward. “I am a traveller, no more,” she answered, voice raised to carry the distance, “Searching for lost comrades. I will honor the alliance between our kind if you will say the same.”

Lowering her hands, Aerain brought herself fully into the dappled evening sunlight, her eyes narrowing slightly as the bright shafts crossed her vision. She sorely wanted to check the horse was still there – it would be a nightmare getting through the forest quickly otherwise, for her long wingspan didn’t allow flight between the moss-lined trunks – but her training forced her to maintain a decent watch at all times... and that meant not turning your back. “My blades are not for the innocent,” she added softly, her brown gaze settling on the elf she assumed had shouted – a youngish looking elf (though they all looked young, damn them) with plaited gold-tinted hair – “I swear it, on my honor.”

She had to admit, the sheer amount of people present made her a little... uncomfortable, and the predatory animals surrounding the young lad just added to her concerns. In fact, she noted, they all looked similar: that bronzed hue in each of their long, elven locks and the dark-coloured eyes...

He didn’t tell me Lysander had a bloody army as a family, she pondered sourly to herself, Though I didn’t care to ask. I wonder how many of them are mages?

---------------
((Hylas))

"Well..." Selan began, seemingly pondering on the matter, "Since it's a temple that no one's supposed to know, or at least no human is supposed to know, I'd bet it's around the elven lands, but surely we have no one who could actually be helping us to go through that places."

Hylas knew the stories of the lands up North... ghosts and ghouls most of them – a fact that made him shiver in excitement. A Temple in the elven lands! How much of an adventure did that sound? Nothing like the errands Nana and his mother used to send him on, no, though in his childhood he had made each chore into a quest – a quest to do whatever it was before the Rau-lass came and caught him.

How true it all seemed now.

Selan turned to him then, offering her clothes after seeing him shivering, but the young boy shook his head with a smile. “No thank you,” he answered as politely as he could – the way his mother had taught him – “I’ll probably shift in a bit so that I can be warmer and if I wear your clothes, they’ll just fall off and get ripped. And then I’ll feel bad for ruining your lovely clothes.”

"Indeed,” Tarn confirmed then, replying to Selan’s suggestion of leaving, “let us head north. The only problem would be that I'll need a shirt! Come, if we head off now, as you say Selan, we may still have a few hours of walking before night covers us." He ran a tongue over his finger and lifted it, testing the wind. "We have the wind to our left ..." the hunter said decisively and then strode off into the trees.

Subtly – so that Tarn wouldn’t see him – Hylas licked his forefinger, feeling the breeze cool it as he raised it to the evening air and then, grinning, he trotted after him. Spotting the bow strapped to the man’s back, the boy jogged alongside him, Tarn’s strides taking up two of his own.

“You’re really good with that bow –“ he chirped happily, “I saw you with the Rau-lass and the atrox – got them properly you did. And Selan was really good with her sword too: you must both be really fit. Da said I was good with a bow – said I could hit bird off it’s perch if I wanted to.”

Hylas paused, frowning in thought. “But I don’t like hitting birds,” he said, shaking his head as if to confirm it, “I only like shooting at things that I can eat, like rabbits. I can hit a rabbit too, you know. Is your bow made of yew? Mine was: Da took me to find the tree myself and Nana made me say a thank you prayer for it – she likes plants. She taught Mama how to grow things. I can grow things pretty well too. One day, I’ll have a whole garden of my own and I’ll have a bit for flowers and a grassy bit with trees in and a vegetable patch, ‘cause Nana said I have to eat my vegetables or I won’t grow strong. But Granda said it was meat that made you grow strong, not weeds... Can I try your bow sometime?” Turning to Selan, his eyes grew wide with glee. “Or your sword! I’d like to try your sword... you could teach me!”

And then he could defend his new family...

Hylas grinned, already seeing the shimmering steel grasped tightly in his hand... but no, he didn’t know how to use one of those properly... how about a bow then? Yes, that was it: standing in a tree, his trusty yew in one hand and the soft feathers of fletching in the other, firing at the enemy and protecting his family from all the evil people that would try and hurt them. And then when his arrows had run out, he would shift into the scariest animal he could – maybe a wolverine (a really big one) – and then he’d defeat every single one of them and be the youngest champion in the whole wide world! Or, instead of a wolverine, what about a skunk?

Giggling slightly, he imagined himself as a little black and white striped skunk, turning his tail up to the Rau-lass who pinched their noses and ran away to be sick... Yes, he cackled to himself, that’d be very funny indeed.

((Signum & Foertis))

“Samir, Samir? How many classmates meet mage before?” the boy Caelen asked. Samir stared down at him blankly and said, “Um… while I can’t be a hundred percent sure of this, I think that you’re the first.” A grin of pure joy broke out across the child's features reminding Foertis forcefully of his own competitive ambition that had been manifest since childhood.

Scrutinizing the faery, Caaelen stated bluntly, “Wings like Fae teacher. Not like her. She mean. I not care! I not do pushups, I not use grammar, I not stay quiet, I not speak good Fae! You not make me!” Coming to a halt in front of the blue-eyed faery, he grinned. “Feel better.” "Hn," was the noncommittal reply, his forget-me-nots trained on Signum, already trying to abandon him for the elf, Samir. A slight blush colored his cheeks-- once, it would have made him appear shy and comely. Once.

Lysander's long fingers wrapped around the faery's hard, narrow shoulder, squeezing slightly. Despite his shortcomings, there could be some good things about the fellow. Not all that often, though. The child wqatched this with silent interest, then added thoughtfully, “Not believe Altus Vulnus," Signum winced slightly-- formal titles weren't his preference, "Samir and Akio says Mage Ælfher have three magics, you only two; you not wear dress, either. And you healer."

With a soft sigh, Foertis tore his gaze away from Signum. "Yes," he acknowledged, "but healers can also be extremely skilled mages." With a pang he was reminded of silver-bright Argenti, of whom he was beginning to think less and less of. Simply from sheer force of habit, his hand rose to finger the strand of silvery hair hanging from its tie. Lysander smirked, murmuring in soft Fae to the shorter mage, "that child has a good head on his shoulder, healer." Curling his lips back, the addressed mumbled, "I wouldn't go so far as to say--"

"Ciach, you little-- Loscadh is dó ort," The elf swore viciously-- his suddenly blazing expression threatened to make the last part of his oath true, for the insensible boy had launched himself onto the vain elf's shoulders and busied himself tugging at the shimmering, soft locks of hair. The blond stared, dumbstruck. Hazel eyes locked on his, daring him to even contemplate a single word or even the slightest reaction...

A peal of laughter erupted from his throat, building up into a cackling crescendo that very nearly drowned out the furious exchange going on between the three elves. It ended with Caelen huffily getting down and grasping Lysander's legs in a hard hug, chirping, “Bye-bye, Daddy,” before sprinting to Anahita and seizing her hand and immediately beginning to chatter about his blunt weapon.

"Daddy?" Foertis mouthed, chuckling to himself. "I know that sometimes I wished I had a different family, especially when I was younger, but honestly, you? The horrors they must have subjected the poor infant to..." Eyes flashing, Lysander hissed, "Damnú ort," before stalking away.

-------

"You might want to control the child eventually," Signum murmured. "Bribery will only go so far..." He sighed in memory. Brushing the back of Lilith's hand-- to think that it was her in this male guise!-- he motioned that they should go on, he barely even registering the icy glare from Foertis.

Passing through, he softly explained what each rooms' purpose was and the basics of how he, Foertis and Lysander had set up their operation. Traversing a short stairwell, he pulled open a heavy stone door, indicating that Samir enter first. Letting it swing shut behind him, Signum stood mutely by a bookshelf. Now that they were truly alone, he wasn't sure what he'd say. This was, after all, Lilith. What he'd seen of the assassin, for the admittedly brief time he'd known her, he'd found likable enough. Yet Sorea had loathed her, though they were in a sense colleagues.

Running a finger down the spine of a worn book-- the tomes had been scavenged whenever possible and were for the most part on subjects pertaining to stratagems and whatever magical enlightenment the threesome might have needed-- the faery said, "you mentioned an Avelate." He turned slightly, so that only three-quarters of his body was turned away from Lilith. "He thought I'd be a loose end of sorts, did he?" Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, fingers stopped short by Foertis's hair ribbon. A single blond strand that his fellow healer had missed still lay there, contrasting sharply with the black, Pulling it out, he toyed with it, watching the light refracting on the bright thread rather than observe the elf. "Rest assured," he murmured, "that is going to be the least of his worries. I've taken care to make ourselves forgotten to the world, though it'll be some time before that's complete. Believe me, the least I can do for these children, after taking them from their past lives and giving them a new one, is to make sure that it's as safe and enjoyable as I can make it."

[ShadowWake]

((Altair))

There was the sound of foliage being parted and soon a faery woman stepped out, arms raised in a gesture of peace.“I am a traveller, no more,” she called, her clear voice spanning the distance with ease-- almost militant ease?--, “Searching for lost comrades. I will honor the alliance between our kind if you will say the same.”

Altair hesitated, then responded, "we honor the pact still, as ever we have. Of lost comrades, though, I doubt you'll find any news, not here. But why do you arm yourself against us, if with peace you truly walk?" Caera's slim hand touched his shoulder nervously. Her other hand was ensconced in the thick foliage of trumpet flower vines, Faedra right behind her. Beside Altair, Diarmuid bent down to whisper into the ear of his canine friend, his eyes bearing the same glazed, servantile expression of the two beasts.

The faery woman stepped beyond the boundary of the trees. “My blades are not for the innocent,” she stated, brown gaze fixed squarely on Altair. A prickling sensation of unease swept through him; for a fleeting moment, he wished to have his little brother's brash nature. “I swear it, on my honor.”

"Don't trust her," Eithne hissed, her auburn hair falling in delicate wisps across her face, escaped from the pile on top of her head. "We've lost to much blindly following," agreed Nieander. "Perhaps when our Patriarch lived, in the days of our races' youth, we could have but not now-- Altair, are you listening?"

"Yes," he replied, breaking off his scrutiny of the strange creature that had-- unwittingly, he felt-- wandered into their midst. But the family, and Trisha-- that was his main priority. "Diarmuid," he murmured. The young lad's eyes snapped up to meet his, hazel eyes clouded-- were he human, he'd have looked only twelve years old. "Go," he commanded, "scour the surrounding forest for any followers, anything suspicious-- take along Niall, too." Nodding, the child's gaze locked briefly on the female, the haze clearing for a fraction of a second-- in that fraction, the lioness's ears pinned themselves back and a low growl resonated in the wolf's throat-- before fogging over again, thicker than before. Tossing his head back, a primal howl ripped free of Diarmuid, echoing throughout the woodland. The goshawk took wing, circling with another group of three birds, whilst two more wolves joined the first. The boy took off, his strange court of animals galloping beside him, one or two joining at certain spots. Just before he went out of sight, Altair noted with relief Niall's lithe form sprinting after his wild nephew.

To the intruder, he said, "I wish I could give you my trust-- but that would be asking a great deal. Disarm yourself here, and don't come any closer. Nieander, call father or even Evander-- we need to test her before we ca--"

"Altair!" A weak voice whispered, though it had once been as high as the trill of a lark. "Don't--" Trisha, leaning against the hard support of a doorjamb leading to the inner chambers, slid to the ground, her small body wracked by coughs. Caera's expression grew thunderous as he nearly flew to her side. "Trisha!" the elf admonished, brushing the hair back over her dainty, pointed ears. "Trisha, stay inside, you're too--"

"I'm sick of walls," she gasped. Her eyes though met not her cousin's but rather the faery's caramel colored gaze. "She's-- she speaks the truth," the pale maid coughed, a slight wheeze in her voice. "Or at least-- she thinks-- she... does...," Trisha's thin speech broke off as she bent over, wracked by spasm after spasm of coughing. Gasping for air while the flow ceased to abate, she leaned forwards, burying her heart-shaped face in Altair's soft robes. "You... you need to be inside," he muttered. "Silly, stupid thing to do, walking out. Aunt Eithne?" The red-haired woman was already there, pulling the faint girl to her feet and helping her walk.

Bowing his head, Altair took in a harsh breath and released it, turning about solemnly. "Well, then," he said casually, though he wasn't sure if his belied his nonchalance. "It seems I-- we-- leaped to conclusions somewhat readily. Please, lady, feel free to take shelter with us and tell us more of your lost comrades."

((Samir))

"You might want to control the child eventually. Bribery will only go so far..." Altus Vulnus said. Samir simply shrugged. He could control Caelen if he wanted to, but he found that it was easier to bribe the child. He’d start controlling the little elf once the dagger lost its appeal, and he had run out of things to entice the kid with.

The healer’s hand brushed against the back of his, earning him a glare from Foertis. Samir fought the urge to slowly inch away, and followed Altus Vulnus. He listened attentively as the other explained the rooms’ functions and how the threesome had organized everything. They came across a few stairs, at the top of which rested a huge stone door. Samir walked into the room which rested beyond, stopping after a few paces and turning around. Altus Vulnus had shut the door, and was gently touching the spine of a book.

"You mentioned an Avelate,” the faery said, turning away from him. "He thought I'd be a loose end of sorts, did he?" Samir shrugged and Lilith began to feel rather annoyed at the blood oath, which forced her to answer even the rhetorical questions. The fact that Samir did that anyway wasn’t the point. “Yes, you along with every other assassin and spy that hadn’t returned.”

The raven-haired man ran his fingers through his hair, then pulled out a single golden strand. He began to fiddle with it, seemingly avoiding eye contact. ”Rest assured, that is going to be the least of his worries.” Samir tilted his head to one side curiously. “You do realize that that sentence implies that you’re involved in something much worse, right?”

”I've taken care to make ourselves forgotten to the world, though it'll be some time before that's complete. Believe me, the least I can do for these children, after taking them from their past lives and giving them a new one, is to make sure that it's as safe and enjoyable as I can make it."

Samir leaned against a bookshelf. “So you think you can make the world forget you?” he asked. Glancing to the floor, the back again, he said, “I’ll admit that it can be done, but can you really make such a large group simply disappear during your lifetime? It took several faery generations to accomplish the same feat in Cetairiacelos—they had much more time and much less people looking for them. Not to mention the fact that no one wanted to run through the uncharted wilderness looking for a group of exiles.”

Samir looked at the floor for a second time. “Do you really think that you can simply hide from everything?” he asked in a serious tone. “That if you bury yourself under the covers, it will all go away? For awhile, it might. But not forever. Not even close to forever. You can run as long and a hard as you want, but in the end, you’re going to use up all of your energy, you’re going to twist an ankle, simply collapse from exhaustion.

“What then? Your pursuers will always be better equipped than you, have more food, water, be better prepared for things. They will be able to catch up. And even if you manage to escape them, what will you do? Where will you go? A single person, or even a small group of people, can refuse to go back, putting themselves into self-exile from the only place of warmth they’ve ever known. But with children? It isn’t possible to adequately support them; it’s enough of a challenge to support yourself, let alone children who can do almost nothing for their own survival.” Shaking his head, Samir looked back up at the faery, ruby eyes serious. “Trust me when I say that you can’t run forever.”

As Hylas skittered up to him, Tarn slowed his pace, so as to give the boy a better chance of keeping up. A smile grew on his craggy face during all of the child's seemingly endless speech: how children loved to talk ! “You’re really good with that bow –“ he started happily, “I saw you with the Rau-lass and the atrox – got them properly you did. And Selan was really good with her sword too: you must both be really fit. Da said I was good with a bow – said I could hit bird off it’s perch if I wanted to.”

"Really, you've a good eye then, it usually takes time to aim that well." The boy then continued: “But I don’t like hitting birds, I only like shooting at things that I can eat, like rabbits. I can hit a rabbit too, you know.” "And indeed, that is the first rule of hunting: kill only what you must to eat, and thank the woods for your catch ... I've practised that teaching for as long as I can remember" Tarn had learnt that from his father, all those years back, when he'd first accompanied his father on a hunting trip. How good times had been back then, though slowly, a new light was being shone in the direction of this life.

Is your bow made of yew? Mine was: Da took me to find the tree myself and Nana made me say a thank you prayer for it – she likes plants. She taught Mama how to grow things. I can grow things pretty well too. One day, I’ll have a whole garden of my own and I’ll have a bit for flowers and a grassy bit with trees in and a vegetable patch, ‘cause Nana said I have to eat my vegetables or I won’t grow strong. But Granda said it was meat that made you grow strong, not weeds... Can I try your bow sometime?” The boy then turned to the woman with them, eyes seemingly ready to roll out of their sockets “Or your sword! I’d like to try your sword... you could teach me!”

"No, Hylas, my bow is made from what's called Horse-apple, or Osage-orange; it's not found around here, but it's the best type of wood for this kind of bow I've ever tried. And that place sounds lovely, I'm sure you'll be able to find it someday (When all this is finally over and back to normal he thought) ... And the rule to healthy eating, is to simply eat both ! You can't got without your greens, but meat is really what makes you strong, a bit of both and you'll grow into a man in no time !"

The hunter then slowed, falling back to where Selan was: "I wouldn't suggest handing him your sword ... He might get carried away ..." he smiled. Then, with a shrug, he took his bow off his back, and quickly pulled out an arrow: this one's feather was white; so it was a relatively old one, the point would not be too sharp. He came back up to Hylas, and crouched down next to him, having to kneel to not seem too dominating: "Here you go, see that hole in the tree-trunk there, right in front of us, on that maple ? It's where a branch was, but fell; try to get the arrow inside it ..."

[ShadowWake]

((Aerain))

So many guarded people! Aerain was not one to become nervous among crowds – what mage could be when battle was so pervasive in the world? – but the sheer amount of suspicion that emanated from the Ælfer household was enough to make anyone uneasy.

"Don't trust her," one woman commented harshly, her sharp eyes piercing and glittering with an intense mistrust. Unable to help herself, Aerain counteracted with a glare, lips pressed tightly together against her objections and back stiffening as she returned her dark gaze to the elf in the fore. His eyes seemed unable to remove themselves from her figure and raising her chin slightly, the faery met his stare equally, an even amount of pride and resolve radiating from her being in her determination not to be judged.

"We've lost too much blindly following," agreed a seemingly older elf - though one could only tell his age by his bearing – "Perhaps when our Patriarch lived, in the days of our races' youth, we could have but not now-- Altair, are you listening?"

Tearing his gaze finally from hers, the elf named Altair retorted with a short affirmation, turning to murmur at the young boy. The lad nodded, hazel eyes unfogging as they snapped onto hers (never would she admit the flicker of nervousness that that simple motion conjured in her breast) and the animals flanking him snarled, teeth baring in clear threat before becoming silent once more. Unnerved, Aerain’s hand twitched towards her blades, stilling as the child let loose an inhuman bay, twisting to run into the forest, more beasts joining him in his hunt and the slim figure of another elf slipping into the shadows after him.

"I wish I could give you my trust--“ the elf Altair murmured softly and her gaze returned to his once more, ”but that would be asking a great deal. Disarm yourself here, and don't come any closer. Nieander, call father or even Evander-- we need to test her before we ca--"

“Test?” Aerain snapped, gaze narrowing, “What…?”

A faint sound came from a smooth stone building in the centre of the courtyard and immediately, all eyes were upon the small form in the doorway. ”Don’t…” the elf began and then stopped, taken over by a bout of harsh coughing that seemed as though it shouldn’t have come from the young woman - pretty as she was, despite her illness.

The plaited man shot to the woman’s side, admonishing her for emerging from her shelter but the young elf brushed him off weakly. Brown eyes settled upon the faery. ”She's-- she speaks the truth," the woman Altair named as Trisha whispered hoarsely, her breathing ragged, "Or at least-- she thinks-- she... does..."

Aerain felt a brief and unusual sense of pity for the girl as she doubled over once more, unable to cease the coughing that wracked her fragile body. She wanted to do something… something to help ease the frail young woman’s pain… After all, Aerain justified herself, she’s just completely turned the tables for me with no more than a glance.

Trisha was hurried inside by her family and Altair let out a long-held breath, spinning to fix his eyes upon her once more. "Well, then," he said coolly but Aerain could see the concern in his gaze and wondered why he hid it. Maybe he’s enough like you that he hides his weaknesses, she mused and hushed the thought as soon as it arrived.

"It seems I—“ he continued, ”we-- leaped to conclusions somewhat readily. Please, lady, feel free to take shelter with us and tell us more of your lost comrades."

Lowering her head in gratitude, Aerain unstrapped the belt from around her hips, placing the twin swords and their scabbards before her on the soft needles in a gesture of peace. Reaching behind her, she unhooked the spear from its place upon her back and cast it onto the pile of weapons at her feet.

Then, tipping her chin at the gathered armaments, Aerain gave a short smile. "A gesture of faith," she commented wryly and another flicker of a smile crossed her features as she moved to stand at ease, hands clasped behind her back, "I am Aerain Lueila. I thank you for your offer of shelter: the road has been a long one. If you don't mind, I'd like to ensure my mount is unsaddled and tethered; she's a little more flighty than I'd like so it would be best if she remained in close proximity."

With a slight pondering frown, Aerain cocked her head curiously. “The young woman who spoke just now: what ails her so? My magic can often be incorporated into healing and if I can help, I would like to do so. She has confirmed my innocence without any prior knowledge of my intentions and for that, I am very grateful.”

((Selan))

Selan smiled at the fact that Hylas was showing interest in swordplay. She, however, thought the same as Tarn did. She listened to him. "Yes, indeed, I think he'd rather use a bow...!" she laughed. Finally she had some company, and good one! Of course, that made her happy. As Hylas liked to call it, they were a 'family' now. She smiled once again, and kept walking. She felt the breeze of the evening blowing. It was cool, but not enough to feel too cold. She felt her hair dancing with the wind. Sometimes she thought she had too long hair, but she was really proud of it, she really liked her hair.

Moving her feet along with the leaves, she could hear the hissing sound of her feet rubbing those dead fallen leaves. Selan kept walking for a bit, and while she was doing so, she closed her right hand, and concentrated on it. She was able to feel it again. It was weak, but she could sense it. Maybe this meant everything could actually go back to how it was? She hoped so, but soon her thoughts were interrupted by hearing Tarn talking. She looked at him, and saw he was kneeling down, and offering his bow to Hylas, and 'challenging' him to shot an arrow. She smiled. If Hylas was able to do it, this meant he had enough potential to be a fighter. If not, well, he was good anyways, so he would never be a buren. Besides, she loved having him around.

She sat down in a nearby rock and observed her two companions. She took some things out of her bag, and checked everything she had. Her clothes, her bottle, the mask, a little dagger,... everything seemed to be there. She then remembered, while watching Hylas, about her little friend. Pyrei. What had happened to her? Since they had gotten to Oestin that day she hadn't known much about her. She found out she had joined some people in a sort of a group, who were taking care of her, but that was so much ago, that she didn't really know what she'd be up to, anyway, now.

She checked mentally a 'map' of the zone, and resolved that they would be circling Oestin, so they wouldn't need to pass through it. They were heading the north, and soon after that, snow would appear. She wondered if she'd be able to make it alright in those situations. However, she thought, she would always have her new family.

((Caera))

The faery-woman nodded her head in gratitude, the muscles of her broad shoulders shifting under their coat of skin as she did so. Then, with an unrefined, war-like grace she unstrapped her sword belt, laying low two sheathed swords; the fine weaponry of the faeries gleamed beautifully on the smooth stones, so tempting, as though they beckoned the proud, distant woman to bend down and grasp the hilt, rising a warrior. Their exotic guest broke her unwittingly out of her reverie by laying a wicked spear atop the alluring swords.

"A gesture of faith," the woman said in a low, mellow voice, hands clasped loosely behind her back (the style put Caera in mind of the military-- somehow, the image of soldierliness fitted this newcomer well). "I am Aerain Lueila. I thank you for your offer of shelter: the road has been a long one. If you don't mind, I'd like to ensure my mount is unsaddled and tethered; she's a little more flighty than I'd like so it would be best if she remained in close proximity."

Altair opened his mouth as if to speak, but his cousin interjected before a word could escape his lips. "Diarmuid will be sure to find your steed. There's no need to fear for her or her well-being. I doubt that the obedience of his pets escaped your attention? And I think that your mare would be of particular importance to him, seeing as this would be unknown terrain for her."

Aerain nodded, then asked with a slight frown, “The young woman who spoke just now: what ails her so? My magic can often be incorporated into healing and if I can help, I would like to do so. She has confirmed my innocence without any prior knowledge of my intentions and for that, I am very grateful.”

The effect of the question was rather shocking. Faedra started to speak just as Caera and Altair did, Neiander a mere heart's beat behind. Finally it was the younger man's voice who rose above the rest, breaths of wind snatching away the volume of their words so that he could be heard. Lowering his hands, Altair stepped forwards, menace apparent in his stride for the first time. Caera stiffened; the fool would probably say something regrettable.

Holding his head high, the elf stated bluntly, "we will accept you here; that much is your due, after all. However," he said, with greater emphasis on the words, "I do not know you, so I refuse to trust you with that which is so precious to me-- to my entire family. We of the Ælfher line are jealous of our treasures, of which Trisha is one of the dearest." Faedra moved to touch her sister's arm, her eyes pinned dead-on to the faery. Soundless words slipped from her lips, the movement of which was so bare as to be nearly indiscernible. Those two don't trust her, Caera thought, frustrated. Oh, but they didn't understand! It hurt her to see her beloved youngest sister wasting away. They couldn't understand, especially not Altair. He was so uptight, so overprotective that more than anything else, Caera felt that that would be her sister's undoing.

Glaring vexatiously, she strode up to her cousin and grabbed his shoulder, clawed fingers digging into the light cloth of his robes. "Breallán, don't speak so foolishly!" She hissed, in Common for the benefit of Aerain. The man turned to look at her, slight alarm apparent in the cast of his face. Well, he's always been unable to hide his emotions. "Caera," he began softly, "Bí ciúin, ma's é do thoil é--"

"I will not be silenced," she snarled, shooting a quick look at the faery. She devotedly wished that Aerain would understand its meaning, that the faery would know that she, at least, was willing to take what help might offered. "An dtuigeann tú, Caera?" Altair demanded, mouth tight with anger even as his eyes pleaded with her to drop it. "Fine", she responded, "if it's your wish, good cousin, so be it." Spinning hard on her heel, she stormed away, the skirts of her dress swirling about her. "If you should want me," she added over her shoulder, "I'll be in the adjoining garden."

Behind her she heard uncle Neiander excusing his niece and asking their guest would like to rest for a while, and would she tell them more of what brought her here? A none-too-friendly smile flickered onto the noble lady's full mouth. There would doubtless be much exchanging of pleasantries, more relatives would appear from other parts of the forest or home, there'd be some sort of dainty served (considering how wearisome traveling was) and she'd be able to listen to all of it. Or most of it, at any rate, she thought, settling down beside a creeping jasmine vine which in its enormity managed to reach the other garden's outer fringes. Faolán glanced fleetingly at her, an eyebrow arched; he'd no doubt guessed something of the reason behind her sitting with the jasmine. With a curious smile, he motioned for his brother Caiseal to rise and follow him, the pair making for their aunt's previous location. Caera smiled and leaned far into the fragrant blooms.

[ShadowWake]

((Hylas))

"No, Hylas, my bow is made from what's called Horse-apple, or Osage-orange;” Tarn answered and Hylas nodded: his father had told him all about the different bow woods – horse-apple was much better for short-bows than the long-bow that his Da had made him. "It's not found around here,” the brawny man continued with a slight smile, ”but it's the best type of wood for this kind of bow I've ever tried. And that place sounds lovely, I'm sure you'll be able to find it someday... And the rule to healthy eating, is to simply eat both ! You can't go without your greens, but meat is really what makes you strong, a bit of both and you'll grow into a man in no time!"

Slowing further, the hunter drew back to speak to Selan, warning her against handing the boy her sword. A little put-out, Hylas began to frown - opening his mouth in protest – when Tarn bent to one knee, holding out the smooth, curved length of wood in a single calloused hand, a fine fletched arrow in the other.

"Here you go,” he said, his worn face curled into an expression of amusement, “see that hole in the tree-trunk there, right in front of us, on that maple? It's where a branch was, but fell; try to get the arrow inside it..."

Positively beaming, the young lad took the bow into his small hands, running his fingers down the orangey wood-grain in reverence, enjoying the feel of the smooth varnished surface beneath his fingertips. Drawing his gaze away from the wood, he accepted the slim arrow and inspected the dart-shaped steel tip.

“It might bounce...” he commented quietly, his mud-coloured eyes scanning the worn edges, “Nana said maple was hardwood so the arrow may not be able to stick in it when it’s blunt. But I’ll try anyway...”

Taking a deep breath, Hylas settled the bow in his left hand, fingers wrapping around the old grip with a practiced concentration and his right hand automatically sliding the arrow gently onto the rest. Face a perfect cast of seriousness, the boy raised the weapon before him, turning his elbow out like his father had told him, so that the string wouldn’t catch his long sleeves. Chewing his bottom lip, Hylas rested three fingers upon the string – ensuring that the arrow-fletch was between the first and middle appendages – and drew the taught cord to his chin.

It was difficult – very difficult – for Tarn’s bow was not made for the strength of an eleven-year-old but for the muscles of a full-grown man, and the boy’s arms shook a little at the effort of holding back the kinetic energy that so desperately wanted to let loose. Gritting his teeth, Hylas sighted along the narrow shaft, settling the point upon the distant hollow upon the maple trunk and trying desperately not to let the arrow waver.

And, releasing a long held breath, he let go of the string.

The arrow’s course was swift and true; with a dull thud, the steel tip embedded itself into the back of the dark hole, white feathers sticking out like an obscure flower sprouting from the tree’s rough trunk. With a whooping yell, Hylas spun to face the hunter, his grin almost splitting his tanned face.

“I did it! Did you see? I did it! It went straight in!” Sobering slightly with a frown, his dark eyes became curious. “It was hard though:” he said solemnly, “you must be really strong. Maybe you can show me how to make my own bow? And then I won’t have to use yours.”

Grinning once more, the young boy handed the bow back to Tarn. “I’ll go get the arrow!” he exclaimed and within seconds, a small brownish martin was trotting happily over to the maple, scrabbling up the trunk to grip with tiny paws at the wooden shaft. One hard tug had the arrow-tip from the wood and the small mustelidae on the leaf litter: jumping up, the little martin grasped the shaft in his jaws and ran back to the two adults.

Dropping it, Hylas shifted into a crouch, picking up the arrow and passing it back to the hunter. “I did good, didn’t I?” he grinned, turning to Selan, “Didn’t I Selan? I can protect you both now just like you protected me. How cool is that?”

((Argenti))

Is something dying? Argenti thought (rather a bit irrationally) as the scent of sizzling flesh wafted past the faery. Fanning out his wings, he rose languorously, hauling himself upright with his arms. Brushing messy, tangled hair out of his eyes while ignoring the desire to wash it, he quickly identified the source of the scent: Phoenix crouched by flickering embers, patiently cooking a skin and gutted rabbit. "Good morning," he said with a sunny smile, embracing her from behind. "If you'll excuse me?"

Relieving himself in the forest, he returned and sat by her side, biting his tongue before he could ask to finish cooking the food for her. Freedom was too sacred a thing to his fire-bird for him to cage her with love-- least of all for so untaxing a thing as breakfast. Instead, he wryly said, "I feel like one of those fat, fluffy little dogs that the rich humans give to their children. Do you know, I'm feeling out of sorts just because I haven't bathed in a mere four days?" Laughing, he added, "I guess it comes of being a healer. I mean, some of the soldiers we'd get-- they thought marching through rivers would suffice for the day!"

Argenti absentmindedly pulled free the leather thong restraining his hair, dragging his fingers through the silvery tresses until the strands were in reasonable order, then plaiting it back a short way down to leave a long tail, the loose ends of the cord trailing to his ribs. Standing up, he brushed Phoenix's shoulder with the sensitive tip of a wing, saying, "I suppose the horses will want to have decent meal themselves before they spend another day lugging us through thick and thin. I'll be back in half a hour." That said, he went to untether their two mounts, leading them through the foliage to find a suitable thicket of foliage for their hard teeth to destruct.

((I'll edit in the details of this rough post later... I'm too sleepy right now.))

Tarn kept a steady eye on the boy, having backed up a bit to leave the bow room to fire. The hunter observed every move, every twitch of a muscle, fascinated and amazed that this boy knew how well to shoot an arrow, to pull back the string of a bow, despite his young age. As the shaft split the air with a shrill whistle, Abileith was positive it would hit the mark, and while not un-surprised at seeing it disappear into the hollow, he had expected it. That didn't make it any less marvellous. And of course, the boy's earlier comment only added to his fascination: Hylas had been a very lucky boy, to get such good parents, and the fact that they were taken away from him only added to Tarn's newborn hate of the Rau-lass.

A laugh escaped the hunter's thin lips at the boy's jubilations. "I did it! Did you see? I did it! It went straight in" he shouted, literally bounding with joy. And at once, as if respecting a hidden rule, he calmed a bit, his delicate, innocent eyes growing in size it seemed, as he asked yet another question: "It does take strength, Hylas, but when you'll grow to be a man, I'm sure you too will have that strength in you. As for your own bow, when we put a bit of distance between us and the past (he was referring to the incident that had united them all), we can go and look for some yew, or a more subtle wood.

As the boy offered to get the arrow, Tarn answered "You do that." but no need to say such a thing, the boy had already shifted and was running towards the tree in the shape of a martin, his form almost lost in the thick carpet of leaves at their feet. "He's got potential, and he's a fine boy; I'm glad we could help him ..." he said to Selan, rising from his kneeling position, as his hand felt the smooth finish of the flatbow in hand, the heat and slight sweat left from Hylas' grip.

Slinging the bow back on his back, Tarn let his hand rise to his beard, as a small gust of wind blew the leaves about him in a wild skitter, his hair also pulled into its clutches to sway in mid-air, before it all abated, and those stands fell back upon him. Within a few other moments, Hylas was back, shifting back to his human form as he handed the arrow, scented with a hint of bark, back to the hunter, who muttered a silent thank you, and offered a nod of his head, before turning back to Selan, still beaming from his feat.

Hmm, indeed, I could get used to his company, thought the hunter wryly, if only for his bounding happiness and the fact that he does trust us completely, already. Let's not let him down ...

[ShadowWake]

((Nstif’ikta))

Screams echoed down the corridor - blood-curdling howls of pain and despair – and the Rau-lass Queen inspected each, delving into minds virtually torn asunder in madness, only to boost each with enough energy to allow the body to last; they would either be tied or torn by the end of the night.

She had foregone her armour for robes of deepest indigo – a few shades darker than the flowing amethyst cloth the human mages wore – the top folds clinging to her body like a second-skin and allowing the skirts to ripple about her booted feet like smoke. Her long, dark hair coiled around the edges of the hood, a mere hint of the shadowed features within, and again, she bore no weapon; it would be a long while, certainly, before she could trust the faery with any blade.

But in this case, she needed none anyway: a pact with the Rau-lass was considerably different from a faery oath. No blood would be spilt – a strange notion considering the clear ‘moral’ differences between the two races – and there would be no evidence of the bond save for that single... personal... link.

It was always so much easier when they were willing.

The old key clunked heavily in the lock, the mages having already sensed her arrival, but Nstif’ikta raised a slim hand, stilling them with a look. “Fetch a basin of clean water,” she demanded cooly, watching as one hurried off silently, collecting a bucket from the well and bringing it to her side. Beckoning for the robed figure to follow, the Rau-lass stepped into the darkened cell, indicating for the basin to be placed in the centre of the room; the mage did so, casting nervous glances to the faery Arandein who watched with hollow eyes, before hurrying out and closing the door with a loud clang behind him.

”Morteza Melchios...” she purred, rolling the name around her mouth as though tasting it. Languidly, she lowered the cowl of her robes, crimson eyes glittering with clear amusement as a slow smile crawled over her pale features. Stepping a pace forward – though not enough to allow the chained faery to reach her – Nstif’ikta fixed her gaze squarely upon the dark eyes of the man before her.

Oh, the look her gave her! What was he thinking? Did he truly know how much he had given her – was going to give her? His mind was perfectly blank as always – as though it were carved of white marble... how combiningly fascinating and frustrating that was!

Resisting the urge to close the short space between them - right then and there - the she-demon smiled, hands tucked into her draping sleeves. “Have you made your decision?” she enquired in a low tone, eyes leisurely tracing his form before piercing his once more, ”Or would you rather I decide for you?”

------------
((Aerain))

Immediately with her words, the Ælfer household turned into chaos, each member talking over the other in contention and each trying to make themselves heard. Finally, one voice rose above the rest and Aerain recognised it to be Altair, even before he moved a pace forward. Used to noticing such motions, the faery observed the tense cast to his figure and instantly stiffened, automatically becoming defensive without really registering it.

“We will accept you here; that much is your due, after all,” the elf stated pointedly, ”However," he continued, threat in both his stature and tone, "I do not know you, so I refuse to trust you with that which is so precious to me-- to my entire family. We of the Ælfher line are jealous of our treasures, of which Trisha is one of the dearest.”

Once again, Aerain’s protest was interrupted, a tall, red-haired elf striding over to her relative’s side and gripping his shoulder in clear anger. Or was it frustration? Either way, the woman was determined: that face she had known for years, though it had been many years since she had seen it in anything other than her memory. She watched curiously as words were exchanged, the beautiful female attempting to counteract Altair’s rapid elvish with sharp Common – clearly intended, Aerain noted, as the woman met her gaze ferverently.

It seemed not all the Ælfers had the same concerns. Ackowledging the elf with a subtle tilt of her head, Aerain considered her as she stormed gracefully from the courtyard and made a note to approach her later.

Though if the rest of the family had anything to do with it, she probably wouldn’t get the chance.

The older elf apologised, proffering rest and discussion and, unable yet to do anything further on the matter, Aerain accepted graciously, casting a glance to her pile of weapons as she moved into the courtyard proper. They were probably safe, she soothed herself as she settled down onto a low stone wall, resting her arms loosely upon her knees, but still, it had been a long time since she had gone unarmed – she even bore a small knife to bed – and it was unnerving to say the least.

As was the thought of bringing up the subject of the missing mages.

Frowning slightly, Aerain stared at the floor, following the smooth rock worn away by generations of footfalls. “You will have heard of Tumulosus, I am sure,” she started slowly, raising her gaze to meet those of the elf before her with a raised eyebrow, “Though of your knowledge of Occalus, I do not know. For those of have not heard, I am afraid the news is a dire one: the faery capital has fallen and is now suffering the tenure of the Rau-lass. Of those mages fighting upon the city walls, less than half-a-dozen survive – myself being one of those lucky few.”

Aerain sat up, stretching her wings carefully and allowing them to drape upon the bed of soft needles behind. “There are those,” she said blandly, “That cannot be accounted among the dead; we mages fought upon the walls – bar myself – and all faeries who died, died upon those walls. And yet, when I arrived at Duilliúir, I realised that some of those mages were missing: their bodies were not present at the point of retreat and they did not join us in the elven city. It is my duty to find those mages.”

((Selan))

As Selan was sitting down, she looked carefully at how Hylas held the bow, the way he pulled the string. He looked so focused, strangely focused, thinking of someone that young. Would he hit the spot he had been told?

Soon, all the questions were answered. Surprisingly, the arrow cut the wind, whistling with a high pitch. Soon after, the sound of the arrow hitting it's target. The smile of the young shifter didn't give space for any doubts. He had done it. It was incredible, for the bow wasn't that of a young boy. It was a bow that was supposed to be used by a grown man, so the strength needed to use it was far more than what Hylas was supposed to have.

He ran, after shifting to his animal form, to get the arrow back. He's got potential, and he's a fine boy; I'm glad we could help him ... Tarn spoke to her. "Yes. He surprised me. He can be really good with a bow. And...well, he's cheerful and he's a good boy. I am really glad we were able to save him, I am so glad..." She realized Tarn was really glad, from the bottom of his heart. He would be a good father, if he had a child. That's for sure. For a moment, Selan felt sort of jealous, that Tarn cared so much for the little shifter. In a sense, she still was feeling like a small girl. In fact, It had been some time since someone cared for her, even if it was a little. When she was at the faery camp...

Suddenly, her mind drifted to the times where she had been hidden in her new self. Back at Oestin, she had seen some of her old 'friends'. She had seen them coupled, even with children, some. And she realized she had never been loved. She smiled, sadly, knowing that this would never happen to her. She was part of something bigger, and she knew it. So there she was, again, alone with her worries. Luckily, Tarn and Hylas were with her, but...they would probably never understeand that. That even if she was able to help them with a fight, she needed a lot of support. That was her biggest weakness. However, between all this, she still was glad. The sparks she had been feeling were definitely part of her magic returning to her body, flowing again. Soon, if things kept going fine, she would be able to regain her magic, completely. She laughed a bit, imagining what would they think, when they saw her magic.

Even if she felt this way, she was not alone anymore.

I did good, didn’t I? The voice of Hylas was back, full of joy. And he addressed to her. Didn’t I Selan? I can protect you both now just like you protected me. How cool is that?

"How cool is that, you say?" Selan smiled. "It is THAT cool!" and she spread her arms really wide, as if she was holding something huge. "But until you have a proper bow, and some more practice, allow us to keep protecting you, still."

She stood up and walked towards the shifter. She hugged him, lovingly. "We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself..."

((Signum))

Lilith leaned against a bookshelf asking not accusingly, but in a musing tone “So you think you can make the world forget you?”

"It'll be hard, but it's doable. She crossed her arms, looked at the floor, then raised her gaze again. “I’ll admit that it can be done, but can you really make such a large group simply disappear during your lifetime? It took several faery generations to accomplish the same feat in Cetairiacelos—they had much more time and much less people looking for them. Not to mention the fact that no one wanted to run through the uncharted wilderness looking for a group of exiles.”

Hm. Interesting name for a land, Signum thought. Abruptly he mentally hit himself. This isn't Father you speak to, it's Lilith-- a mental block, ignoring her, being obstinate-- it's entirely unnecessary. And perhaps there was truth in it-- truth he'd been aware of but had judiciously disregarded.

"You can run as long and a hard as you want, but in the end, you’re going to use up all of your energy, you’re going to twist an ankle, simply collapse from exhaustion," Lilith continued, red-eyed gaze fixed firmly on the ground.

“What then? Your pursuers will always be better equipped than you, have more food, water, be better prepared for things. They will be able to catch up ... it’s enough of a challenge to support yourself, let alone children who can do almost nothing for their own survival.” Samir sighed, locking his eyes onto Signum's, who met that ruby-red stare with an impassive stone wall. "Trust me when I say that you can’t run forever.”

The faery curled his hand into a fist, nails nearly cutting into the pale flesh of his palm. 'Can't run?" He murmured, arching a brow. "Who said a word about running?" Casually walking back, he perched cross-legged on the edge of the desk, resting his elbows on his knees and his jaw on laced fingers. Almost subconciously he reached to undo Foertis's ribbon, halting when he realized what he was doing. The poor fellow had enouh to worry about-- drawing his hand back, he toyed instead with a stray lock.

"I know," he finally said. "Why would I not? She'd have probablytold me the same thing, were she here," he added, mouth smiling though he felt shriveled and dry inside. "But what would you have me do?" Signum inquired, tilting his head to regard the elf. "Is there any other recourse? Think about it.

"On the one hand, we have the Rau-lass. They'll take these children, do aboinable things to them, take their innocence and happiness. On the other hand," he sighed. "You have Foertis, Lysander and I. We know the risk we run-- well, Foertis and I do. I'm not sure how much stock Lysander puts on his power, but I'll wager it's quite a bit." Tracing a cross-shape on his cheek, he added, "but then, you know that first-hand. But tht's beside the point.

We know we're far from safe. We know the risk of discovery-- hell, you knew where we were from the start, or hazarded a very good guess," he stated sardonically. "Despite that, I feel that what we do is right. If we didn't risk our own well-being to bring these children here, then what of them? They'd be dead or worse. You-- you were linked to her, as I recall." Signum swallowed hard, hands clasped tight enough to turn the knuckles white. "You know-- you saw and felt-- what she felt when she made soul-bound spes and slaves of atrox, you saw the failed experiments. Aeolus was probably the only one to remain relatively intact, if you could call his emotional and physical instability that. At least he was alive and capable of coherent thought-- only because he escaped before experimentation was completed!"

"Would you leave these innocent, orphaned children to that?"

[ShadowWake]

((Samir))

“Can't run? Who said a word about running?" Altus Vulnus asked, raising one eyebrow. “Forgive me, then,” Samir said, “it was to my knowledge that the word ‘run’ meant fleeing someone or something, which I thought you were doing.” The blood-red eyes followed the healer as he went and sat cross-legged on the desk, propping his head in his hands. For a moment, he reached up to undo the hair tie that kept his raven locks from his face, but then fiddled with the curls instead.

For a few moments, there was silence. Then, "I know. Why would I not? She'd have probably told me the same thing, were she here," the faery gave him a rather unconvincing smile, and it took Samir a moment to realize which she was being referenced. "But what would you have me do?" the man asked, tilting his head sideways. "Is there any other recourse? Think about it.”

Samir sighed. Two days wouldn’t be able to pass fast enough. “Have you ever heard of anything called rebellion? Or ambush? Or any other subtle means of striking at your opponent from the shadows, or manipulating your enemies?” she asked sarcastically. “What would I have you do?” she repeated. “I couldn’t care less; I am not here by my own consent and have very little involvement in this whole business. As for other options… you gave me a statement without mentioning any of the possible downfalls, and I did not know whether you had simply omitted those, not thought of them, or had pushed them to the side for whatever reason.”

"On the one hand, we have the Rau-lass,” the faery continued. “... On the other hand, you have Foertis, Lysander and I.” At this Samir raised an eyebrow. Things were rarely as simple as they seemed, and never were simply black and white. You had all kinds of shades of gray, or in certain cases, colors that blended and stood out much like a kid’s tye-dye project.

“We know we're far from safe. We know the risk of discovery-- hell, you knew where we were from the start, or hazarded a very good guess. … Despite that, I feel that what we do is right. If we didn't risk our own well-being to bring these children here, then what of them? They'd be dead or worse. You-- you were linked to her, as I recall."

Lilith gave no comment and eyed the faery coldly. She didn’t like the implications that the monologue was creating--that she would willingly abandon defenceless children to the monstrosities of the Rau-lass--nor did she like to be reminded of the fact that she had been linked to Sorea.

Healer Vulnus then swallowed, and Lilith noticed that his knuckles were turning white. "You know-- you saw and felt-- what she felt when she made soul-bound spies and slaves of atrox, you saw the failed experiments. Aeolus was probably the only one to remain relatively intact … . At least he was alive and capable of coherent thought-- only because he escaped before experimentation was completed!

"Would you leave these innocent, orphaned children to that?"

Samir’s eyes turned icy for a brief moment before Lilith summoned up sheer willpower to turn her expression into something closer to that of her brother's. “It appears that my grasp on Fae isn’t nearly as complete as I had thought it to be, for you seem to believe that I said something of which I have no recollection,” Samir said, a small, humorless smile briefly flitting across his face.

“Yes, I was connected to Sorea and yes, I knew of the failed experiments, knew of her failed attempt to turn that human into her personal spy. By the way,” Lilith asked, spurned by pure malice, “wasn’t he the one that killed her?” Not waiting for an answer, she waved her hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. The b*tch is gone, and that’s that. I don’t suppose that you happen to know what happened to her dagger, though?” While she didn’t care what had happened to Sorea, she did care about a piece of metal that could bind her unwilling soul to another’s—again.

Her tone dropped, and this time she did nothing to change it. “Please tell me, Healer Vulnus, when did I say that you should stop rescuing the ktzvan’a kids? I merely stated an obvious fact: that it is impossible to accomplish what you wish to do given the circumstances. I also stated that it is impossible to continue that for an indefinite period of time. If I am telling a lie, or if I have been sorely misguided in my understanding of Fae, please let me know so that I may refrain from unknowingly making such a mistake in the future.”

((Jael))

He sighed as he looked out of the narrow window of the guard post, watching the sun as it slid further down on the horizon. They had arrived at Narda with less than an hour of daylight left and had immediately begun to work. The first thing that they did was take over a guardhouse, killing all the guards and making it their temporary home. At the moment, Kaedo was using his magic to find two mages—d*mned though they were—that the assassins could personify. After killing them and relieving them of their lives’ memories, of course.

Jael clenched his jaw as a cockroach scuttled by him on the floor, and stared outside as though possessed. He was lucky that he had still been in more of a serious frame of mind when they had arrived, or Kaedo would have had to take out the guards all by himself, for Jael couldn’t use his magic when the inside of his head was the equivalent of a—once—ball of yarn covered in catnip that kittens had gotten into, then mysteriously doused in all the colors of the rainbow. The problem was that his thoughts were starting to skitter around again. Not now, he thought desperately. Just wait until we’re somewhere safe, until you’re sure that Kaedo won’t need your help… Sweat appeared on his brow as his eyes fixated on a leaf in the distance.

A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he automatically focused on the object. It was a calico cat creeping across the courtyard. D*mn, he thought, before the multi-colored yarn returned. He glanced at the window again, noticing that it was too small for him to jump out of. Almost guiltily, he looked back to where Kaedo was. The kitty, unaware of it new stalker, scampered away. Without a second though, Jael rushed down the stairs and out the door, following it.

He sprinted as fast as he could, the leaped. His fingers curled around the cat’s tail, and it hissed, swatting a paw at him. It slithered from his grasp, escaping into the city. Jael pursued, all thoughts of remaining hidden and close to Kaedo forgotten.

The cat ran through a dark alleyway, then into a square that was still fairly busy. It stood to reason, though. Spring had barely begun, and the sun still set rather early. Dodging between people with the nimbleness of his race, he pursued the unfortunate critter. It had tried to take refuge by climbing one of the posts on a salesman’s stall and onto the roof above. With a sudden leap, Jael grabbed the helpless feline and tumbled back to earth, landing lightly on the balls of his feet.

He petted the shocked animal, who had probably never been forced through such an experience during its entire life. Glancing up, he realized that people were staring at him. A lot of people. Unperturbed, he gave them a grin. Holding out the still-dazed calico, he said, “His name is Sasquatch.”

This didn’t seem to help anything, though, for people started whispering to themselves. Not that it mattered; Jael could hear them anyway. He just chose to ignore them.

The cat remained in his arms, paralyzed. In its little animal brain, it was coming to a few conclusions. Even though it had learned to fear not the two-legs, but the things they threw, some primal instinct from the dawn of time rewired itself and ordered it to remain as still as possible, so that this funny two-legs would lose interest and go away. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem as if it were going to happen anytime soon.

Some shiny piece of jewelry caught his eye, and he slid through the crowd like a ghost. “Your necklace is pretty,” he told the girl who was wearing it. The girl nervously glanced around, as if asking for help. The shopkeeper whose stall the cat had used as a ladder walked up to Jael and, in a falsly benevolent tone, he said, “Why don’t you come with me?” Jael frowned at the man, perplexed. “Why? I have to give Sasquatch a bath first.” The man’s lips narowed into a line, and Jael noticed a scrawny boy sliding away into an alley. This set off a few alarm bells. Uh oh, he thought.

“We can give… Sasquatch… a bath later. But please come with me, we’ll get you home safe and sound…” Jael stubbornly shook his head and backed away. “My mommy told me not to follow strangers,” he said, frantically yet subtly looking for an escape route.

((Melchios))

Ah, screaming. I remember causing that. Ugly, vile vicious sound... horrid, unbearable... like home-- like home! SCREAMING! Eyes bulging in crazed emotion, the faery flew upwards-- literally flew, despite the agony in his wings-- to slam his shackles against the wall, his bloodcurling shriek of pain joining those of the many.

Have you abandoned me! Have you, have you, HAVE YOU, you queen of bitches and bastards! Ah, his sweet gem needed him, he needed her, desired her, lusted for the power, the sweetness, glorious freedom, to be free again and fly, fly more powerfully than any force the land has known or seen...

But first she had to come, and she wasn't here. The mother of all evil, the vilest of the vile, and—what was that? Screams dying, agony giving way not to death, but to weariness. And here a sensation, not from within but without—approach? Yes, yes, he heard them! The melody of visitors coming, and for who else but he, he the only one able to aid those beyond heavens’ tender harmony! He, traitor among traitors from a race of the loyal! He was not forsaken. Freedom could yet be his, would be his. Liberty lived in her seductive will.

Panting, the Arandein composed himself only slightly, taming the feral ferocity to skulk about by the wall. A key clanked in a lock, the heavy metal mechanism giving way to the teasing manipulation of the brass teeth. Light only slightly less dim than the paltry glow of the prison illuminated his face, casting into faded relief three robed figures and the distant command, “Fetch a basin of clean water,”.

The Rau-lass queen strode in, imperial and collected, her majesty none the less for all that her magic was an effeminate lover before him. I wonder what magic looks like? Melchios thought idly, observing silently her steps. One of the two mages soon returned, casting nervous glances at the chained faery; he gave him a fanged grin. Do you feel your sterile magic, or is it unnoticed until you reach for it? You can’t beat me, un-muscled stripling dependent on the arcane… not like this one! Not this one! In a flash he concentrated upon the demoness once more. Acutely aware was he of the door clanging shut, leaving them alone together.. a languorous smile split his features. Lion and tiger, lion and tiger, oh, to test one’s wits again!

”Morteza Melchios...”She purled, rolling his name as though it were velvet. Unbidden, he craned forwards, unable to resist her even when she bore no magic—this one, her eroticism was of secondary nature. Were this the faery court, he’d have grimaced, but the whole science of perversion, the pupeteering of events, was a different matter here. In this dank cell, he showed his emotions without their fine gilding, without any refination, for the bitch so used to seeing the wills of men would need to know this outlier; let him tempt her, let him show her the true snake coiled within the brutish lion. “Have you made your decision?” she enquired in an enticing alto, eyes leisurely tracing his form before piercing his once more, ”Or would you rather I decide for you?” Slowly shifting his gaze so that they were locked dead-on, he purred, “do your best, my soon-to-be-liege.” And may the greater one win!

[ShadowWake]

((Kaedo))

Getting in the guardhouse had been so much easier than he’d expected; such a relief too, whatwith Jael’s mental instability. Of course, he’d never say that to the man’s face, but when one is left alone with one’s thoughts…

A poison or metal mage, and a telepath. That was what Kaedo needed, that was what he sought. Never should have let Victoria Where’s my soI could’ve sworn that the bastard had given I got ripped off! Moron, damn the bitch Is he looking at me? What’s he thinking? Does heIs that mind familiar—wait. There’s not mind. But no, there’s something flitting in my thoughts. Something, or someone. Oh, gods, if I’ve let down my masters, if someone’s infiltrated the building—but what if they aren’t at the fortress? What if— With the skill born of centuries of practice, Kaedo dove lightning-quick into his prey’s mind, brutally taking over the weaker telepath’s mental faculties so that the man could only stand by, enraged, as some unknown foe coolly controlled his body, arranging it into its normal motions.

There was one good thing about the palace: Narda was a city of shifters, where animals were beloved. It was a simple matter for Kaedo to sneak his prey into a tiger pit. Once the beasts had been allowed to roam freely amongst their half-human counterparts; now they were confined by their new overlords, the Rai’alssa. Confined, and hungering for vengeance. Attack him, Kaedo thought, sending the body into the pit as the owner made a last-ditch effort to save himself. As he was shredded to pieces, the faery assassin removed as many details of the fellow’s life as he could, the better to impersonate him. Nor did he allow a single scream to pass those lips, lest guards be alerted. Lastly he overtook the mind of a young male, forcing the large feline to consume every scrap of shredded, bloody cloth and goaded him into falling with tooth and claw upon a fellow inmate. More blood dripped from wounds slashed by razor talons, disguising that of the late telepath—not a trace left behind.

One down, Jael left. Leaving the reverie induced by the employment of his magic, Kaedo surfaced and started to speak, “I’ve got a man named—.” His voice died away. Gods damn it, Jael! Why the bloody—good light, where’d the man go to!

Frantically going back to the window of the guard-tower, the faery cast about with both mind and eyes for his friend. She’s so kind nope, not that one I wonder ifGood Mother, she jilted me who was that? Not worth a farthing, what does he think IGET AWAY FROM ME! What’s an elf doing here this can’t be happening will I get blamed by the masters oh good light not-- Tearing free of the girl, the faery sprang into action. The elf he’d seen through her eyes was beyond the shadow of a doubt Jael. The people of Narda weren’t idiots—they’d have sent someone for the Rai’alssa, who—if I guess right—would most likely send a mage for them, rather than go themselves.

Sweeping down the stairs, the old man entered the streets at a full sprint, yet no attention was lent to the fact that here ran a free faery, when all should have been herded to cities like cattle to pens, the better to keep track of. Why did no one noticed the winged man I a shifter city? Because of the mental illusion cast by Kaedo—it was easier with a fellow faery, for they were all slightly interconnected by their innate magic, yet he could still manage it by casting his mind in a net-like edifice, drawing in the clamouring thoughts and tinkering with the brain to present to image of a sprinting young man, brown hair blown away from desperate cinnamon eyes as he pounded towards the town square, purple robes flapping. Jael, he thought, connecting directly to the elf, don’t you dare move a step until I come or I swear to you, I’ll kill the cat.

“We can give… Sasquatch… a bath later. But please come with me, we’ll get you home safe and sound…” A crowd had formed, through which Kaedo forced his way. “Excuse me!” He roared, making them hear a young man’s high voice. “Let me through! I’m a mage! Let me through or I’ll have the lot of you charged for resisting the capture of a dangerous fugitive!” Jael, it’s me. Hastily the crowd parted, as though they were a living river. “My mommy told me not to follow strangers.”

Panting, the man sprinted up to the shopkeeper, who looked to hm with a look of extreme relief. “Most estimable sir, I—“

“Shut up,” Kaedo snapped irately, knowing from the seized memories that this was how the late telepath would have reacted towards subordinates. “I came here for the elf, not you. Come now, move.” The shopkeeper’s choler roiled like a shoal of fish, but he reined in the negative thoughts, instead deferring to who he thought was his superior.

“Now, elf—ah, so Pryderi’s your name?” He asked, smirking. “I’m a telepath, so I suggest you refrain from doing anything—ah, stupid.” Laying a hand on Jael’s ropy shoulder, he started steering him away, adding when Jael continued the façade of fear. “And my name is Gerian Dathneille. See, we aren’t strangers anymore—now come.” Weaving their way through the crowd, Kaedo thought, now look at the mess we’re in. If they sent an envoy, I’ll have to edit the envoy’s memories to include me, not whomever he ran to, and I’ll have to take the envoy out of the aformentioned’s memories, unless that being were a strong Rai’alssa, in which case detection is risked and we’ll need new personas, or even… good heavens. Why do I continue to hold the man in such high esteem?

((Jael))

As he was talking with the human, trying to figure out where would be best to run to, someone's mind brushed against his. Jael instantly stiffened, then relaxed as it said, Jael, don’t you dare move a step until I come or I swear to you, I’ll kill the cat. Jael grinned. Ok, Kaedo, he thought, not even sure if the other could hear him. I found a kitty and--why are all the colors the same? Why can't-- At that moment, a human with brown hair and brown eyes pushed through the crowd.

“Excuse me!” he said, Let me through or I’ll have the lot of you charged for resisting the capture of a dangerous fugitive!” Jael stared at the man blankly. "What fugitive? Where?" he asked innocently. For a moment, he wondered if Kaedo would get there soon, then decided that--if not--he'd have to figure out how to keep Sasquatch alive and run away at the same time. Jael, it’s me, the voice in his head said. Jael frowned at the man in front of him. No it isn't. Kaedo has butterfly wings because he made a secret pact with them and sold his soul and--

“Now, elf—ah, so Pryderi’s your name?” the human asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. Jael opened his mouth to tell him that he wasn't this Pryderi person, but the man continued. “I’m a telepath, so I suggest you refrain from doing anything—ah, stupid.”

Jael hissed, for a moment his gaze focusing on the-the brat before it lost its intensity. "I'm not stupid," he said. "I know more languages than you probably know the existence of. And I went to school," he added defiantly.

The mage wasn't listening, though. He was guiding Jael away, now, saying, “And my name is Gerian Dathneille. See, we aren’t strangers anymore—now come.” Jael frowned, letting the other one steer him along. A small corner of his mind said that this logic was flawed somehow, but it was smothered under the yarn. "Ok," he said brightening. "This is Sasquatch," he said, holding up the still-petrified cat triumphantly. "I need to give him a bath. How come your dress is very similar to that?" he asked, pointing to a bluish roll of cloth. "Where are we going? I didn't do anything wrong, see? I didn't even kill anyone this time. Do you know what frogs taste like? Kaedo won't let me eat them alive, and they get all yicky-looking when you fry them. I like snow, and kitties. I wanted a snow leopard, but Kaedo's allergic to cats. I think..." Jael frowned, pausing to take a breath and remember if it was Kaedo that was allergic or someone else.

[ShadowWake]

((Diarmuid & Niall))

Crisp, cold air filled the old yet young elf's lung, tongues of wind whipping his loose tunic back. Niall's coppery hair, cut just below the jaw, flew back from his face in a mirror of Diarmuid's, whose mane of deep gold thrashed behind him. The young boy's thin chest heaved, though it was merely from deep breaths to keep him going at this break-neck pace. A sheen of sweat formed over his nephew's bare chest, yet it failed to concern the boy. Nothing did when he wove himself into the patterns of the forest.

Diarmuid fell back so that he and Niall ran side-to-side, he taking nearly three strides for every one of his uncle's. Wordlessly, the lad wrapped his spidery fingers around the man's wrist, squeezing gently. In response, he slowed down, so that the pair reached a light jog at about the time the brush gave way to a clearing. The boy's wolves were excited despite his magic; they whine and twisted about their master and kin, begging to be released for the hunt. Their eyes were clear, bright amber, though their master's gaze remained clouded. In this state they were allowed greater freedom and they recognized the scent that rode upon the wind; the lioness alone remained composed, standing regally between the wild elves.

"What is it, Diarmuid?" Niall questioned softly, his light, mellow voice sliding bell-like over the Elvish dialect. His nephew looked up at him, then stared fixedly at the farthest end of the clearing. A broken tether tied to a tree-trunk. So that was it-- apparently their mysterious visitor had come here mounted, not flying; though unusual, it made some sense in that the skies were far easier for their dark foes to patrol. "Do you want to find the horse?" He asked. A nod of affirmation, accompanied by a slow step backwards. Niall chewed his lip, then stated, "I'm not sure how safe that will prove if you want to run with the wolves-- we should do as Altair requested and only search the forest for any who might have trailed the faery-woman."

An irate expression crossed the boy's face, and he made a peeved tsk in his throat. His fogged eyes returned longingly to the snapped tether, one hand resting softly upon the square head of the beta-wolf. The cry of a goshawk pierced the air, rousing his nephew. Decisively, he twined his long fingers into his uncle's and took off, joining their animal pack in his magic. The slender boy's hand squeezed hard that of the man dashing beside him. Dear Lady, again?

In a flash Niall's vision changed, as though silk had been tossed over his eyes. The only one who could see was Diarmuid, for whom the clarity of trees, moss and stone was all the more heightened from the multiple visions he commanded of wolf, hawk and lion. Diarmuid... The elf-man could acutely feel the pull of magic mustering unnatural slavishness from the wilderness and were he any other sort of beast, it would have held him in thralldom too. Now, though, he took advantage of it; the fast pace of canines could be matched for a while by the frail boy, but he was yet young and could hardly keep it up forever; bending down, the older man scooped him up in his arms, letting him cling to his neck, eyes still pinned ahead as the course of magic was altered to guide Niall instead.

The rampant mare was soon found, trotting at a nervous pace through the woods; from his nephew the man could tell she'd left for her mistress when the woman had failed to return and had left her with full tack, an unnatural occurrence in itself. Leaping nimbly to the leafy-strewn floor, Diarmuid released his uncle and the pack, skittering towards the mare himself. She shied violently at so rapid an approach from an unknown threat; biting his lip with force enough to draw blood, the elf resisted the urge to bid him take care. He need not have worried; the mare bolted back, reached a trembling halt, then shied away one step for every two of the lad's. When he was just three feet away from her, he stretched out a single arm, letting it quiver in the air. Snorting and sniffing in the scent of predators thick upon him, ears pinned flat against her head, the horse bared her teeth and lunged, skittering back just before she made contact with the delicate young creature.

"Hush..." The elf-boy whispered. "Do not fear your friend..." Nostrils flared, she back hesitantly, though her ears swiveled to catch the soothing sound. Was it just Niall, or was there the faintest of foggy hazes on her bright eyes? If there had been any, it was gone in an instant, with the mare docile and calm. Head lowered, she walk back beside the boy, letting him run his hands over her then, with one move, spring upon her back. Glancing over his shoulder, the child motioned for his companions to follow, then urged the mare to a rapid canter, her fine hooves picking out with practiced dexterity where she might safely lay them.

Slowly, as they returned home, the members of the group fell back until only the original predators of the pack were left. Just outside the courtyard Diarmuid dismounted, easing off the mare's bridle and tack. Though her gaze looked down with unease at the two predators flanking the lad, she trailed by him, head hanging just above his shoulder.

“There are those that cannot be accounted among the dead," a low, mellow voice said. "We mages fought upon the walls – bar myself – and all faeries who died, died upon those walls. And yet, when I arrived at Duilliúir, I realised that some of those mages were missing: their bodies were not present at the point of retreat and they did not join us in the elven city. It is my duty to find those mages.”

Diarmuid froze. Then, with a low, pained sound, he yanked Niall by the hand so hard that his nails cut into the man's flesh, darting forwards into the courtyard. The eyes of the elves all flew towards the newly come-back and Faolán, as well as a few others, took time to observe the mare behind their young relation. "Your mare," The man said softly to the faery-woman as the equine trotted back to the side of familiarity. Diarmuid's eyes never left her figure, though.

Altair might've guessed at the source of the boy's agitation. "Her name is Aerain Luelia," he murmured. "And he was at the Tumulosus battle front," Nieander added. The lad's eyes flew around with the desperation of a caged animal as he sought to communicate his need, fingers digging furrows into Niall's flesh. Proud Caiseal glanced between the boy and faery, then said, "If it's Lysander again, Diarmuid, then ask Aerain what you want to-- don't wait for Niall to do it."

Niall hesitated, knowing that it wouldn't help the child's communication problems one bit, but it was Altair who ended up speaking. "He wants to know if you've seen or heard of my brother, Lysander," the mage explained sadly. "He's-- he's quite close to everyone in the family and is accustomed to things happening as they should, and following the general pattern of life here. It upset him rather a bit when Lysander left and even more when he failed to return. Understand that none of us believe him dead, but-- well," he sighed, "I know that there's nothing of import there for you to tell us."

"Now," he murmured, "you speak of the mages. Tell me, what is it exactly that you wish to learn of them? I can answer some questions, if you bear any, for my brother's service at Tumulosus meant that we were kept well-informed by the government of all the happenings there. All the more so because of our wealth, which is apparent all about you."

((Phoenix))

Argenti stirred and, smiling, Phoenix continued cooking the meat, her grin broadening as the faery’s arms wrapped around her wiry frame warmed by the crackling flames before her. “Good morning,” he murmured, silken strands of his long hair gracing her flushed cheeks and his faint scent warming her heart, ”If you’ll excuse me?”

He wandered off into the undergrowth of the forest, his boots crunching softly upon the crisp, frosty ground, and within a few moments returned, settling himself beside her quietly. He seemed to watch her for a while – no doubt concerned about the strenuousness of the task – prompting another smile from the lips of his companion.

”I feel like one of those fat, fluffy little dogs that the rich humans give to their children,” Argenti told her dryly and Phoenix turned her head to survey him in amusement, meeting his gaze. ”Do you know,” he continued genially, “I'm feeling out of sorts just because I haven't bathed in a mere four days?"

Phoenix laughed aloud, a rippling chuckle that seemed to come from somewhere deep within her – a place that had become gradually forgotten in the last seven months – and the faery healer laughed too, his deep rumble mimicking hers.

"I guess it comes of being a healer,” Argenti remarked as she turned the meat, settling it within the embers once more, ”I mean, some of the soldiers we'd get-- they thought marching through rivers would suffice for the day!"

“It wasn’t very long ago that I thought the same, I’ll have you know,” Phoenix answered cheerfully, resting the spit she had made upon a stone and wrapping her arms around her knees, “Eating grubs, sleeping on moss, dunking yourself into the nearest pool as though it were the best of baths...” Settling her emerald eyes upon her companion, she watched him fiddle with his unkempt locks – deft healer’s fingers entwining the strands until they were plaited into reasonable order – and her lips curled further in amusement. “The next place we come to that has an inn, we’ll have a decent wash. That’ll last us another week or so.”

She returned her gaze to the cooking meat, sensing a feeling not unlike contentment. Standing, Argenti’s shimmering wing lightly touched her shoulder - smooth and gentle as a caress – and Phoenix turned her green eyes upon him with a smile. "I suppose the horses will want to have decent meal themselves before they spend another day lugging us through thick and thin,” he told her and Phoenix nodded agreeably, hand reaching for the spit again. ”I'll be back in half a hour."

Running a hand through her own, too-long hair, she returned her attentions to the meal, inhaling deeply. What this really needs, she thought wryly, Is a nice sprig of rosemary...

Laughing at her ridiculousness, Phoenix turned the rabbit once more.

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

“Argenti?” Phoenix called. The wind wasn’t too unbearable yet it still tried to tear her voice away and so, raising her voice slightly, she spoke again, “Argenti, I swear I just saw a scout: mounted – just below that ridge, where the pass is. What do you make of it?”

The snows had diminished considerably and, along with the lessening of the darkness in her soul, it meant that Phoenix could slip back into her old ways as easily as fitting a hand to a glove. And the feeling of profound relief that accompanied it was one of the sweetest sensations - aside from her love of the faery beside her - that she had known for a long time. Six days of trudging and it was as though they had left the camp only yesterday.

Tervalos, though, had been pretty fruitless. It seemed as though Sorea, Signum, Lilith, Keara and all the other Commanding officers at Tumulosus had just... disappeared, and the continual rumours of child abductions just added to the growing sense of unease whenever Phoenix thought of her comrades. It was perfectly possible – as Argenti had gently pointed out – that they had secured a retreat, either to Occalus itself or deep into the maze of the forests where Nstif’ikta and her followers could not find them. But over the past few days, the terror of the villagers seemed to confirm her suspicions that the Rau-lass’ hold over Aduro was likely more extensive than they had previously realised.

And now, the Queen would be looking for her. Even more than before.

So Phoenix had increased her vigilance. Not allowing herself to tire so much as she had, she had maintained a relatively constant watch upon the horizon ahead, trusting in her sure-footed mount to wend a path through the snows. It was only when the pass had become visible that she had spotted a sharp glint – the bright winter sun reflecting off what she knew could be nothing other than steel – and she had drawn gently upon the reigns, hailing Argenti.

“I don’t like it,” she muttered to herself as her emerald eyes scanned the bright white line of the pass. Why would they be guarding the way from the elves rather than to it?

[ShadowWake]

((Hylas))

"How cool is that, you say?" Selan reiterated with a grin and then spread her arms wide to their full reach, "It is THAT cool!" Hylas giggled, nodding in agreement as he danced from one foot to the other in obvious glee. "But until you have a proper bow,” she continued gently, ”and some more practice, allow us to keep protecting you, still."

The young shifter puffed out his chest, trying to look as important as possible, when Selan rose from her seat, reaching to embrace him with warm arms. Surprised yet pleased, Hylas closed his eyes happily, wrapping his arms around the woman’s waist as she spoke again. "We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself..." she said, her tone holding a mixture of love and concern – so much like his mother’s!

It had been a long time – so long! – since his mother had embraced him so. The last he had seen her had been when his parents were leaving for the war. There had been a great many people in the village square – cheering and waving – and some were even crying. Hylas didn’t understand that at the time: all he understood was that his mother and father were going away and nobody knew when they would come back. But they would come back: his Ma had told him so.

----
”Zieke, love, you will behave for Nana and Granda until we come back, won’t you?” she had said, her straight, long brown hair laced into a single braid that trailed down her back like a tail. It was the only time he had seen her hair thus.

“Why are you going?” he asked - more curious than concerned - and his mother had looked to her husband standing straight-backed in the doorway, his black hair cropped short like a dog’s.

“There are people who need our help,” his Da had answered gruffly – a timbre very different from his usual soft baritone – “And we must always give aid where we can. You remember that, son: always remember what we’ve taught you.”

Nodding, the young boy frowned in seriousness, not understanding why but acknowledging the request all the same. Eyes shimmering – was the light too bright? – his mother had bent to one knee, drawing him into her jasmine-scented hold. “We love you, Zieke, okay? Stay safe. And try and look after those around you.”
----

“I’ll be careful, Selan,” Hylas told the woman seriously, lifting his chin to meet her gaze with soft brown eyes, “I promise. And I’ll look after you too.”

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

Hylas paused, rounded muzzle lifting to the air and fur bristling. He could smell something, something that his animal instincts told him wasn’t right...

Trotting back the few short feet to the adults, Hylas the sable weaved himself around Selan’s ankles, shifting to the smaller-sized ferret before scrabbling up onto her shoulder. They had agreed before setting off once more that it would be best if Hylas remained in animal form as much as possible: each village they had passed had been devoid of children, confirming what his grandfather had mentioned – that the Rau-lass were abducting kids for their own needs.

The only problem was Hylas’ lack of communication ability.

Clutching gently at Selan’s ear with tiny paws, Hylas raised himself onto his haunches, sniffing the air once more as he peered into the forest with bright black eyes. Lowering his lithe body, he slipped around the woman’s neck across to the other shoulder, searching the woodland ahead again from the different angle.

Oh, this form was no good! How could he tell them without shifting back into his human appearance? Chattering nervously, Hylas leant forwards, his forepaws barely holding onto Selan’s top as he tried to warn of what was ahead.

Oh, please let them understand!

((Nstif’ikta))

Morteza gave a fierce grin, his eyes piercingly wild – as fervid and mad as most of her prisoners – yet he, this strange faery lord who had dropped so unwittingly into their midst, held none of their despair. No, on the contrary, he was like a cat gone feral: seemingly lost in his own instincts and passions and yet intelligent enough to realise the dangers still. Of that, she must be chary.

“Do your best, my soon-to-be-liege,” Melchios murmured, fixing her with his bright, russet-coloured gaze. Was that amusement she heard?

Remaining silent, Nstif’ikta pondered for a short while, immobile as she surveyed the man before her. Her desire for the bond between them was profound – never before had one of the faeries so willingly given themselves unto the command of the Rau-lass – but his confidence naturally made her wary of rushing.

Oh, she had deliberated it so many times over so many hours; his innate magic that seemed to drain that of those around him, nullifying it as though it had never been present... would the bond even work? True, it was a physical process as well as a supernatural one: the toxins present within the Rau-lass providing much of the leverage needed... indeed, it was why so many had died before a bond could be made. She had been honest when she had claimed it was easier with one willing: those that struggled only heightened the potency of the poisons. And yet, soul magic was a part of the process. Would the faery quash that also?

It was an unnerving thought: not only for the lack of a bond but more for the risk that she would destroy her only chance at finding her fire-bird. Would toxins without imbued magic kill him? That was the question.

And, at the end of the day, there was only one way to find out.

Moving softly forwards – her booted feet barely making a sound upon the stone floor of the cell – the Rau-lass Queen reached out a taloned hand, gripping the motionless faery’s chin. Frowning slightly – black lips pursed – her crimson gaze searched his own.

“Don’t struggle,” she stated simply, coldly, a tiny smile twitching briefly at the corner of her dark mouth, “The only harm you’ll do will be to yourself.”

And, sliding her pale hand across Morteza's cheek, she seized his long ragged locks, bearing down hard upon his parted lips with her own.

((Melchios))

His pet observed him with a statuesque silence, her blood-hued eyes bright as garnets. What would she be thinking? Was the demoness savoring the beauteous thought of power, so gratifying, so rich, or was she like he wondering if his death was imminent? For it was true he'd never seen magic, never felt nor admired its twists and turns, though he'd heard many an account. But it was useless, useless, all in vain! No magic would help or heal, bite or tear, grieve or anger him, for it was all a fake display of nothing more than the useless infirmities, the dependence of a mage, lowest of all low creatures, a mere worm oozing in the dirt.

Would it work, would it fail, would he die, would he live, would he? Ah, but if his sweet little pet, his tiny falcon, the young assassin, if she were but here now! Such a contrast between them, so much, the unfledged chick beside his towering eagle, poised delicately, forcefully before him. If she could but see this, feel what cataclysmic events would come on this day, if she could only! Ah, Pardai, foolish Pardai unable to subjugate him via mind, soul or womanly wiles, how would she feel if she were here, if she saw this queen of queens taking the plunge she'd dare not? If here he died, the world would rejoice, if he lived-- ah, the vengeance he'd take, the rue he'd sow, the glory of it! His two angels would be his, two perfect, flawless, completely impure little nematodes, to torture and force agonies upon their raven-haired heads, the glory of their grey eyes dimming with the sheer horror of it!

His queen moved forwards, the clacks of her boots sending thrills of excitement down his spine. “Don’t struggle-- the only harm you’ll do will be to yourself.” She reached out, her pale fingers touching his cheek, sliding smoothly down the jaw. DO IT!He pleaded and raged, DO IT if you yet hold any value on me! Take me, bitch!

Did she still have her telepathy! For at that thought she bore down on him, latched onto his eager mouth with a strength and ferocity no wolf or lion or rapid dog could match, for she was a predator, a predator thrashing his force down with every carnivorous move-- ah, the pain, the pain the PAIN! Liquid fire in his mouth, coating his teeth, scorching his throat and body! Like a drowning sailor he lunged forwards, grabbing her, heedless now of the damned clinkers, for their merry laughter could hardly compare to the inferno in his body. A haze of red descended over his vision, narrowed it down to a pin-point-- all he could see, feel, concentrate upon was that one link, his mouth on hers, her full lips crushed against his own.

Seductress that she was! Oh, damn her, damn her deep to the iciest pit of that human Hell where the devil himself could be her pawn, just stop this pain! Let it stop, let burn, let it cease, let it continue, for this was his path. This was the way to get her, to corner and trap her, but such sharp daggers lined the crooked trail. Was this the poison without magic that made it ache, or was this because of a twist of fate that rendered his greatest strength useless? Was his boldest asset to be his undoing, would he cave in to her force? Never.

[ShadowWake]

((Selan))

Selan saw Hylas, while in his sable form, trotting back to them. He was nearly all the time in animal forms, since Tarn and herself had thought it was better for him to stay like that. It was safer. Nearly all the villages they had been through were empty of children. Selan felt scared about it. It was sad. She then thought of Pyrei. How long it had been?

Since when the three of them had met, Tarn, Hylas, and Selan had been travelling toghether. Their goal was to help Hylas flee from the Rau-lass, and probably to go search for the temple Selan mentioned. In fact she wasn't quite sure of where it could be...somewhere to the north from Oestin...but where? Finally, they decided to travel to the north-west, not going to the elves' land, still.

Selan's loneliness feeling hadn't really faded out really. Maybe only a bit, but she didn't help much, either. She would usually be worried about how things would turn on, about understeanding Hylas in his animal forms, and taking care of everything as well as she could. She felt, somehow, that she had to look after Hylas...and Tarn. Not that they needed her, though. And maybe that was the reason she always tried to do everything, to try looking useful, or maybe needed...and so, she ended every day exhausted. Mainly because her endurance had never been that good, and because during last months she hadn't been eating well. However, thanks to Tarn's hunting ability, she had solved that problem. She even had gained weight, looking healthy again, and just like she looked before turning her back to her past.

One good thing of the Selan's new travels were that she had regained her magic completely, or so it seemed. Tarn and Hylas, however, didn't know about it. One night she had been washing herself up in the river, trying to have a bit of privacy while the two were sleeping, when, after having been feeling it for some time, she decided to give it a try. She had been able to call all of her elements, which made her really happy. She preferred not to say anything, fearing they wouldn't like her knowing magic, thinking she was cursed, or something like that.

During the journey, they had always been walking near the river. This doesn't mean they always walked through the shore, but they followed its course quite a lot, meaning they would always have water if needed. This also guaranteed that they would always find trees which would provide them with fruits.

It was one of those average days. Selan was calm, and not as worried as she had been on some other days. The small Hylas finally came to where she and Tarn were, and the shifter climbed her body until her shoulder. She felt the paws on her ear and, soon, the little ferret was on her other shoulder, slipping around her own neck.

Hylas seemed to be nervous, looking here and there, as if he was trying to see something. Then he leant forwards. For a moment, Selan thought he'd fall, placing her hands right under where he was, just in case. In any way, he was definitely nervous, and it was about something that was a bit forward.

She didn't know what to think about it, but at any case, she decided to be better to be careful.

"Tarn, I don't know if Hylas is trying to warn us. There might be something there so, even if we keep going, let's be careful, ok? I'm not sure, I might be totally wrong, but I wouldn't like to be harmed because of us being reckless..."


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

((Pyrei))


The plains...it had been quite some time! "Olanea! Let's move! I think it's not windy anymore!". Olanea, her partner, had said the wind could move their smell and draw the atrox near, so they had been hiding in a cave nearby. Some time ago they had been attacked. Just when the assassinations in Oestin had dissappeared, this happened. That day they had seen the strange man, Olanea wasn't able to find him, so she had been back to the base. After that conversation with Lak and Jahz, she had believed their information was good, but the mysterious assassin left without leaving a single clue. This led her to doubt of their information source. Maybe this maid was just lieing, or who knows.

And as for the attack, they outnumbered the atroxes. It seemed as though they really weren't searching for them. So their meeting had been a rather fortuite one. This gave them advantage, and they were able to win. Not without a big shock, though. Pyrei even wasn't almost able to move. After that, they decided change their base-place, so they went to search for a better zone to build a new 'house'. And after some time, they found it. They built a house in the plains, and they had been moving all the material they had. The books and so on. It was valuable material that couldn't be lost. So much information...

Jahz had spent all the time in the new base, organizing the stuff they had, while Lak, Hande, and Olanea would move everything from one place to another. Every travel would take several days, so it was a hard work time. Pyrei, meanwhile, was in charge of food supplies, going to Oestin on her own, for the first times. She had been able to handle it quite well, and she was proud of it.

That day they had been searching for food -fruits and that kind of things- and they had also been searching for a nearby water supply. They found a stream of water. Not very big, but enough to give them the water they needed. Pyrei was tired from carrying that many things, and was impatient to arrive, so she kept pressing Olanea to hurry up. When they arrived, Pyrei let herself to the ground, and laid down for some time. She was definitely tired.

((Aerain))

The young elf came rushing into the courtyard, his strangely tame companions following and the older elf dragged along behind as though he were simply nothing more than a toy on a string. Trotting gamely at the boy’s shoulder was her wayward mare and Aerain allowed herself a small smile at her obedience despite the presence of the wolf and lioness padding at her feet. A few moments previously, she would not have thought it would be possible.

Standing as the bay made her way calmly to her side, Aerain ran gentle hands over the horse’s velvety nose and allowed the beast to whuff into her open palm. “ ’Aolani, you silly girl,” she murmured softly in Fae, the corner of her mouth curled upwards ever-so-slightly, “You should’ve known I’d be back.”

”Your mare,” said the older elf and Aerain raised her gaze with a nod.

“Thank you,” she answered in Common and it was only then that she noticed the boy’s gaze was fixed firmly upon her, intent and unwavering. What is it with people staring at me? she wondered uncomfortably – disconcerted as she always was with the young ones - but luckily for her, Altair responded before she had a chance to say anything further.

"Her name is Aerain Luelia," he said gently to the seemingly agitated child, "And she was at the Tumulosus battle front."

This, though, only seemed to heighten the lad’s distress. "If it's Lysander again, Diarmuid,” another of the elves mentioned and the faery felt herself stiffen slightly at the name, ”then ask Aerain what you want to-- don't wait for Niall to do it."

Turning her caramel gaze upon the youngest elf, Aerain watched him curiously. Was he mute? Or was he so ensconced in his magic – his communication with the beasts of the wild – that it had become difficult to converse with those not of the forest? Either that, or she was more intimidating than she had previously realised...

Yet it wasn’t the boy who ended up speaking. "He wants to know if you've seen or heard of my brother, Lysander," Altair murmured softly, his voice holding a note of sorrow that seemed to be upon every one of the Ælfers’ faces, "He's-- he's quite close to everyone in the family and is accustomed to things happening as they should, and following the general pattern of life here. It upset him rather a bit when Lysander left and even more when he failed to return. Understand that none of us believe him dead, but-- well," he paused, seemingly considering the matter for a short moment before continuing, "I know that there's nothing of import there for you to tell us."

Aerain frowned slightly to herself, thinking. Lysander Ælfer... not even your family knows where you are. What was so important – so vital – that you and your comrades felt you needed to disappear with letting your loved ones know where you were or what you were doing? Not even I – one of the least personable people I know - do that...

Before she could answer, though, the elf had seemed to dismiss the topic, continuing on a more comfortable vein – for the family at least. "Now," Altair said decisively, "you speak of the mages. Tell me, what is it exactly that you wish to learn of them? I can answer some questions, if you bear any, for my brother's service at Tumulosus meant that we were kept well-informed by the government of all the happenings there. All the more so because of our wealth, which is apparent all about you."

“Wait.” Holding up a hand – the other still scratching her mount absently behind the ears – Aerain shook her head, her gaze flashing across to the boy’s before settling upon Altair’s once more. “Of Lysander’s whereabouts, I don’t know much,” she answered warily, acutely aware of the damage any false hope could do, “But it has been rumoured in the elven captial – and among those villages I have searched – that he is...” -- for goodness sake, Aerain, don’t you dare use ‘consorting’ -- “...has been seen with the faery mages I am seeking.”

Patting the horse one last time, Aerain turned to pace the worn, yet well-maintained stone, her folded wings sweeping the scattered pine needles as she walked. “I have been... requested... to find him as well as the members of Sorea Pardai’s battalion who were not present at the fall of Occalus. Like yourselves, I do not believe they are dead. I believe they are hiding. From what, is another matter entirely: though if it is solely their own cowardice then the faery mages will have a lot to answer for. Your brother...”

She paused with her back to the group, brow furrowed. What of Lysander? The elf – mage or not – could not be held responsible for the duties of the faeries and yet the council member had been very specific about his return to the elven captial... But the boy, Diarmuid, and the ill woman, Trisha: didn’t they need him more? And since when had Aerain been privy to the rules of those other than her commanding officer? I would be grateful if you brought it to my attention, the elf had said – though admittedly his tone had said otherwise – not ‘I would be grateful if you could bring him to me’...

“If I find him, I will allow him to make his own decision regarding his return home for I cannot force that upon any innocent man.” Spinning on her heel, Aerain settled a gaze upon Diarmuid that was as close as she could get to sympathy. “But I will return to tell you of him,” she said gently, fixing her dark eyes once more upon Altair, “If that is acceptable. And, in answer to your question, I'd like to know anything you've heard or seen of Signum Vulnus, Foertis Deus and Argenti Malkeya over the past few months.”

((Kaedo))

The pair wove their way beyond the crowd, Jael with his ropy arms still in a determined grip around the poor cat. Minutes later, Kaedo internally relaxed and loosened his hold on Jael's shoulder, for they were beyond the danger of crowds now. It was (relatively) safe. But something was drastically wrong; the elf continued to badger him with questions and, while this wasn't beyond the norm for him, it was strange in that he continued to do it while referencing Kaedo in the third person.

"Do you know what frogs taste like? Kaedo won't let me eat them alive, and they get all yicky-looking when you fry them. I like snow, and kitties. I wanted a snow leopard, but Kaedo's allergic to cats. I think...",Jael frowned, pausing to take a breath, which was taken as an opportunity to interject. "Jael Aconitum, listen to me," the faery hissed. "It is me, and I swear that if you ever give any stranger that much information about me, even if it's about... allergies...," he privately wondered what those were-- of course, Jael's country, with which he was only vaguely acquainted, was more advanced than Aduro, so they would have a name for his fits around felines, "or else I promise you I'm going to do gods knows what, but it'll be something, I assure you."

"Now," he murmured, casting about concerned, heckled glances in the manner of the sadly deceased Gerian Dathneille whom he impersonated. "You know quite well," he murmured in a soft, oily voice, so that the tone would fail to let bystanders guess at the nature of the words, "about my abilities with telepathy, yes? I'm impersonating a telepath whom I killed a few minutes ago. It was quick, easy, and damn it all, if you'd at least warned me of your changing mental state, I could have at least put you under a temporary coma. Now I'll have to either change so many memories that the mere thought of it gives me a headache, or--" he ducked under the awning of a building, leading them down a deserted alley, "find new guises-- easier on the whole though now our presences are known in Narda."

Arching a brows, he looked up at Jael and let the illusion slide for a fraction of time, in the hopes of assuring the wayward elf. "See?" Sighing deeply to himself, the faery growled, "and you made me run, too. Have you any idea how much my knees are aching right now? Let's sit down for a moment and decide who we'll target."

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

((Signum))

“Please tell me, Healer Vulnus, when did I say that you should stop rescuing the ktzvan’a kids?" Lilith hissed. "I merely stated an obvious fact: that it is impossible to accomplish what you wish to do given the circumstances. I also stated that it is impossible to continue that for an indefinite period of time. If I am telling a lie, or if I have been sorely misguided in my understanding of Fae, please let me know so that I may refrain from unknowingly making such a mistake in the future.”

"No," Signum whispered, standing up from his perch on the desk, "you're as skilled as ever in your grasp of the spoken word." The faery moved away now, opening the door and motioning for the other to leave first. "By the way, Lilith," he added softly, as though in passing, "I'd never thought you cared much for anyone other than Jael. You should show that more often."

[ShadowWake]

((I'm not entirely certain what Samir is supposed to be doing, though, so would you mind doing it? If not, I can always have him trying to stop the snotters from having a dirt/mud fight...))

((Jael))

"Jael Aconitum, listen to me," the human hissed, spinning around. Jael stared at him in confusion; hadn’t this human called him Pyderi—or some such thing—merely moments before? Maybe he has memory problems, Jael thought. "It is me, and I swear that if you ever give any stranger that much information about me, even if it's about... allergies... or else I promise you I'm going to do gods knows what, but it'll be something, I assure you." Jael continued to stare blankly at the man. It sounded like Kaedo—in the sense that it said what the faery would have said—but it didn’t look like Kaedo.

Another fact occurred to him. He opened his mouth to ask how the pitiful human had known his name, but it had already continued. "Now," here he glanced about in a manner quite unlike Kaedo’s, "You know quite well about my abilities with telepathy, yes?” Jael nodded uncertainly. If the man were nothing but a human—which would die within the next few decades—then he had already told the elf that he was a telepath. If he were Kaedo, the Jael knew about the telepathy from personal experience. On the other hand—Jael shook his head vigorously, feeling confused about who was who at this point in time.

“... It was quick, easy, and damn it all, if you'd at least warned me of your changing mental state, I could have at least put you under a temporary coma. Now I'll have to either change so many memories that the mere thought of it gives me a headache, or--" the maybe-Kaedo-maybe-stupid-human lead them a ways down an empty valley, "find new guises-- easier on the whole though now our presences are known in Narda."

For a moment, the human vanished and was replaced by Kaedo, who was arching his brows. "See?" The faery was replaced by the human again, which seemed to be grumbling to itself and Jael at the same time. "And you made me run, too. Have you any idea how much my knees are aching right now? Let's sit down for a moment and decide who we'll target."

Jael obediently folded his legs, his back sliding down the wall. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, miserably. “There was a cockroach, so I looked out the window because I didn’t want to bother you, and there was Sasquatch.” He almost waved the mammal in Kaedo’s face, but remembered not to just in time. “And I thought a curse word, too,” he said, drawing his knees close to his chest, but not close enough to crush the feline.

He glanced up at the human-that-was-really-Kaedo, then back at the dirt. He got the impression that he had behaved badly; even worse than whatever he said earlier that afternoon. He looked around, trying to spot something that he could give to the human-Kaedo as an apology. He got up and wandered off, Sasquatch now only held with one arm.

Jael came across a crate, but that was pretty much it—if one didn’t count a few shattered pieces of glass. Carefully taking off one of his gloves, he began to pry a few rusty nails out of the crate. Splinters drove themselves into his fingers, but he took no notice. After all, he deserved to be punished for inconveniencing Kaedo so much. Finally, he managed to retrieve five somewhat bent nails. Stooping, he also picked up a piece of green glass. Cradling both Sasquatch and the trinkets to his chest, he sidled up to where Kaedo was. Laying them down next to the faery-that-looked-like-a-human-mage, he retreated to the opposite wall again, cradling his throbbing hand.

He carefully shifted the cat into his lap, and began to remove the splinters from his slightly bloodied fingers, watching his companion out of the corner of his eye, hoping that he would take the elf’s offering.

((Nstif’ikta))

The poisons twisted and coiled in the faery’s body like the Queen’s own agitated locks, seeking out each pulse of life as though it were a beacon and latching onto it with all the fervidness of a lost child: clinging... suffocating...

Nothing. Why in the name of Ys’fralista could she not see anything?!

Blind to everything but the whims of her own toxins, Nstif’ikta followed the bright trail – a torch through the fog that masked the Arandein’s thoughts – her mind probing at the darkness. The silence was disturbing. Never before had she found someone so... blank – not simply like a bare piece of parchment upon which one could inscribe new rules but a complete absence of anything. Not even the atrox bore that quality.

Beneath her lips, Melchios writhed in agony, hands flashing out to grip her dark-robed arms in a death-grip and, in that brief instant, the Rau-lass felt something – a flash, a spark... what was it? Like a bird of prey, Nstif’ikta dove for the faint essence, seizing it with her mind in a short, harsh wrench.

Goodness knows what it was... a memory? A plan? Desperately, she tried to tease out an image but the thought fragmented the more she attempted to decipher it, fading to a tiny thread that she could barely hold onto. Was it enough to bind him? Simply: no. But it was enough to create one rule at least.

Snatching at the faint strand, Nstif’ikta wove a trace of her own self into it – in her mind’s eye it was as though a golden hair had gained a subtle, crimson shadow – and finally released it once more to the haze of hidden thoughts in Morteza’s consciousness.

Which, she reminded herself with a jolt of awareness, would not last much longer.

Pulling her mind away from the fog of the faery’s, the Rau-lass Queen slipped back into herself as easily as if she had never left. Full lips still crushed against Melchios’ tanned mouth – nonetheless slackened for her efforts – Nstif’ikta smiled, lingering a little longer than was necessary before releasing him. His fingers dug into her arms and she allowed them to stay thus, watching the man’s brown eyes carefully. Why not? Though he wasn’t completely bound to her will, Morteza could not harm her without injuring himself; it wasn’t ideal, but it was all she could salvage in the circumstances.

Smiling slightly, Nstif’ikta stayed silent and, within a heartbeat, the sound of the key turning in the door echoed around the stone-walled chamber. Cloaked in half-armour, a feminine Rau-lass moved to the Queen’s side and saluted perfectly, her hair roiling in luxurious waves over her pale shoulders.

"Unchain him," Nstif’ikta ordered and the woman immediately moved to comply. "But bind his wings," she added, observing the Rau-lass as she struck the exhausted man’s shackles, "I will give him further freedom when he has proven his loyalty."

Once she had finished, the warrior stood to one side, waiting for further orders. Ignoring her subordinate, the Queen waved a hand towards the bucket of fresh water, black lips still curled.

"Use it as you will,” she purred in a low tone, "Another will bring you clothing suitable for your faery rank and show you to your quarters. When the hour strikes, we will talk.” Shucking off Morteza’s grip, Nstif’ikta turned to leave, her crimson eyes fixing upon the dark hollows of the Rau-lass. "If he makes any move to escape," she said coolly, "Run him through."

The door clanged shut behind her.

Tarn had seen it too, seen how Hylas had acted. It was true that in his animal form he was far safer from harm, and animal in a forest, but it did inhibit communication quite a bit. Still, the hunter could feel the tension, and at the little mammal's nervousness, could guess no good would come of inattention. "I'll keep to the trees, and scout out a few feet ahead; whispered the hunter, voice hoarse and wary; stay alert, and keep safe, I'll get your attention if need be." and with that, he was off, like the morning dew that so quickly evaporated when the sun's rays came to hit it.

Head darting left-right in quick succession, his amber eyes picked out a suitable tree, and without further ado, he sprinted towards it, feet launching him onto the trunk, to feel its moist bark on his boots for a few seconds while he defied gravity momentarily. Lurching his torso forwards, Abileith's gloved hands latched onto a sturdy branch, moss damp from the matinee clinging to the smooth surface of the garment to leave a dirty green stain, as the athletic man heaved himself onto the branch with a sigh and grunt.

Another jump, and his hands grabbed onto the coarse surface of another branch, the ground slowly shrinking before his downward eyes as he gained height. And then, he was off. A quick dash of feet against creaked and cracking wood, and one leap, landing gracefully on another branch as all limbs clamped down upon it to secure a footing, to not let gravity take hold of his form and bring it down to the ground. A quick-step on another branch to reach the next one along, and another leap once again.

Aside from the rustle of the leaves above and about him, and the clap of leather boots against wood, the progress he made, so high up, was seemingly silent from below. Upon the forest ground, a slightly higher amount of falling leaves from the trees about them, a slightly more visible sway of trees standing otherwise tall next to them was all that betrayed the hunter's presence in the high-up tree-tops. As for him, the rush of cold air to his face, the smell of sap, moss and earth mingled to create a refreshing cocktail, a scent that kept him cool, and pleased his senses. Not only was the feeling of being as close as one could get to flying exhilarating enough, but that fresh smell that permeated the air here made it a most delectable sensation.

However, Tarn could not focus purely on the joy of this method of transport. No, the sable had been afraid, or scared by something only its keen senses could pick up. And soon, Tarn could see just what the problem was.

The smell of stale smoke, charcoal, and something else could be felt at this height. But what could be seen was worse: the skeletons of small dwellings, maybe small logs houses or settlements made of earth, burnt to the ground, only left as husks of what they once were. There was no life in sight, just burnt wood, kicked up ground, and a few flies feasting as best they could. What were once embers were now piles of white, slowly scattered by the cold winds. Flakes of the blackened wood were chipped off to fall to the ground and be consumed by the soil, and a few crows, perched upon these shells of former houses, looked through their beady eyes at the horrible scene.

There was nothing to indicate death, but one could feel a strange sentiment, a looming presence. The smell of smoke aside, these carcasses could've been resting here for a long time, days maybe, but it seemed more like the attack had been performed only a day or two ago, life snuffed out as easily as the fires that had abated by the passage of time and the whim of nature. Slowly eyeing the surroundings, Tarn judged it safe to get down, and as he hit the hard earth below, he got a full measure of the destruction. "Only" a half dozen houses, all burnt and slowly collapsing. No sign of life, no sign of death, only fire had seemingly ravaged the scene. No forest fire though, the trees, save a few areas of bark blackened by the arson, were intact. Nay, this way an attack on a small forest settlement.

Bow long in hand, Tarn crouched to the earth, setting his ear to it: not a sound ... No smell other than the damp it exuded. Feeling it, he could tell it had been beaten down thoroughly, booted feet had stamped it down and imprints could be seen in places no yet covered by leaves or other vegetation. Walking through this graveyard, the hunter felt strangely at peace. There was no sign of suffering, no skeletons, carcasses, nothing ... All life had been utterly annihilated, thrust into the void to never be seen again. There was no pain or remorse to be suffered here, none that the hunter's cold heart could pick up, just a feeling of emptiness.

One that could not be filled by the presence of others; Hylas and Selan's presence would not change a thing. You felt alone here ...

[ShadowWake]

((Kaedo))

“I’m sorry,” Jael said with such misery that Kaedo instantly (and begrudgingly) regretted his harsh words. “There was a cockroach, so I looked out the window because I didn’t want to bother you, and there was Sasquatch. And I thought a curse word, too."

"Jael," Kaedo sighed, "ot's alright; you can hardly help it." The elf glanced up at him, dark, beautiful eyes full of guilt and innocence (strange when one considered the man's calling). Then with stoic determination he stood up, holding the poor feline like a rag doll and casting his eyes about. They settled on a crate and the nearby bits of broken glass.

Removing the gloves from his young, slender hands, Jael knelt and began to pick and pry at the nails. The faery watched with alarm as his fingers left bloody prints where the splintering wood attacked his flesh, yet he bit his tongue: it was Kaedo's personal philosophy that unless it would kill you, maim you or inconvenience you for a long time, a person was free to punish themselves as they wished, for only i that could they find emotional solace.

Having had retrieved five rusted, bent nails and a few shards of glass, his friend crept before him, placing the objects on the ground before him, the shying away like a nervous hore, cradling the resigned cat and glancing back at the faery to see if he'd accept. Mentally shoving aside the guilt that teetered on the edge of his conscience, he palmed the items, dropping them into the faux money-pouch at his belt (you were just asking to be pick-pocketed if you kept your real one there).

Standing up, he brushed off the dirt on his tunic and breeches (though the rest of the world saw a mage dusting his robes). Striding over to the elf, he sat cross-legged before him and said with assumed cheerfulness, "don't take everything so deeply to heart, eh? It'll hurt more than it has too. Here, give me your left hand; I'll help you with the splinters." With deft fingers whose age hadn't much dulled the finesse of, he picked out the tiny wooden arrows, dropping them one by one on the earth. When he'd cleared out the atrocities marring the otherwise-alabaster skin, he stated, "we've been through this before, so one more time won't make much difference. Brooding's no good, you told me as much when Signum caught us by surprise with news of Sorea's death." And you were angry with me for not being more bothered by the passing of an apprentice, but we deal with loses in our own separate ways.

"So, friend," he asked, "let me see a memory of the scene, or at least the face of the envoy they doubtless sent off to get help; then, help me hunt him down, which has become so hard with the fetters of age. Narda might have become aware our presence, and we ought to let her rue it before we assume our guises, no?"

((Jael))

Standing up, the Kaedo-but-not-Kaedo picked up the nails and glass and came to sit closer to the elf. "Don't take everything so deeply to heart, eh?” he said cheerfully. “It'll hurt more than it has to. Here, give me your left hand; I'll help you with the splinters." Obediently, Jael gave the other his hand, instantly feeling better now that he had obtained his friend’s forgiveness.

When the splinters had been removed, uprooted by the human (but-really-Kaedo), he said, "We've been through this before, so one more time won't make much difference. Brooding's no good, you told me as much when Signum caught us by surprise with news of Sorea's death." Jael didn’t comment; he had yet to figure out whether Kaedo truly didn’t care very much about his apprentice’s death, or if he just bottled up all his emotions inside. Even though he would never, ever say it, deep down inside, Jael was glad that it hadn’t been Lilith’s demise that Signum had reported.

With a sudden shock, Jael realized that he had no idea where his apprentice was. With a flicker of his other self, he sat up straight, mouth opened to ask a question. However, he was slightly distracted by Kaedo’s next comment.

"So, friend, let me see a memory of the scene, or at least the face of the envoy they doubtless sent off to get help; then, help me hunt him down, which has become so hard with the fetters of age. Narda might have become aware our presence, and we ought to let her rue it before we assume our guises, no?"

Jael grinned happily then, his comment left unasked and forgotten. Willingly, he pictured the scrawny, teenage boy with tousled reddish hair and brown eyes. Then he queried, “When we capture him, can I hurt him, or do you just want me to drug him?” his innocent expression contrasting with his inquiery. More importantly—in his mind, at least—he asked, “May I bring Sasquatch, or do you want to hold him and see if your allergies went away?”

((Melchios))

Breath hurt, movement ached, even the faint light of this room seared his eyes if he cracked the lids open the tiniest bit. Screaming was futile, so useless and encumbering without even relieving the torture of his bond. Ah, damn it! Perhaps he'd have been better off had he not spent so much time in filth starvation and subjugation, perhaps then, certainly then, but he had to flee, flee flee this constant hammering of agonies, escape into the depths of memory as so many people did when if grew too hard to resist further...
---

Brilliant rays of golden light melted across spacious windowsills, pooling on honey-brown floorboards and illuminating dust motes as though they were specks of dandelion fluff. It gathered in trickling waterfalls, it crowned blades of grass waving gently in the breeze outside; it cloaked the man before me. Humbly I sat, head bowed in slight deference. Mocking deference. The white robe I wore for practice was spotless and the glare of reflected radiance hurt my eyes, but I much preferred to glower obstinately at that.

“Look up.’ I arched a single, a slight smirk dancing upon my lips. Such disdain from one only twelve years old must have vexed him. Ha—like I cared! “Child,” he said again in his low, methodical voice— I wonder if I could speak that persuasively, was an idle thought—“I commanded you to raise your eyes. Look up, boy.”

Ah, the chord of riled pride it hit, that sentence! No sooner did I hear it than my gaze flew upon his swifter than the hawk; at once chill, commanding, and unsettlingly young. Or so I hoped. The apparent youth in my eyes—the rounded ends, the innocent cast twisted into a façade of adult superiority—that left him unfazed. Biting my lip in childish choler, I crossed my arms and rose. “Yes, sir?”

A vein twitched I the otherwise serene man’s face. “Yes, master,” he corrected. Smiling ever-so-mockingly, I replied, “’Master’ would imply that I bear some sort of deference to you, some youthful sense of inferiority. May the gods forbid it.” He started forwards so violently that though I exclaimed, “lost your temper?1” I took a hasty step back. Contrary to expectations, it wasn’t my face his hand contacted, but rather my shoulder, those long fingers with their crepe-paper skin managing to secure the narrow, boyish shoulder and press lightly on the joint where my wings joined the rest of me. Light tinted green from his translucent wings washed over my blanched features. “Let me go,” I stated flatly. His grip tightened, and I stifled a gasp of pain. “Let me go NOW, old man!”

“No.” Ah, cruelty, this, that I would be forced to hear him out, trapped as I was. “Listen to me now, Morteza.” Such a weary look in my tutor’s pale blue eyes…
“I cannot teach you mastery of the sword if you refuse to treat me with the proper—“

“Wanna bet!” I interjected, enraged. “Sure I can learn, but you’ll have to suffer me as a superior, not some puny student.” The last word was spat out rich with poison. “RESPECT!” He thundered, eyes growing to such a width that irrationally, I thought I would die, would burn by his lightning.

Yet nothing happen. Today was not to be the day my strength failed me, the day I see magic, for none escaped him, of which I was secretly thankful, yet not daring to show it. Never show that blessed relief, give no foothold. Taking a deep breath— yes, calm yourself, why don’t you?—the old swordsman released me, swooping with aqueous grace to snatch up our two discarded blades. He tossed mine to me; at the last possible moment I plucked it out of the air, changing its course with my wrist so that it sang an arc towards that despised figure. Readying himself, my tutor parried with a grand clashing of metal. Gritting my teeth, I sought another path to subjugate him, and we continued.

------

It had stopped. Oh sweet, blessed relief, ambrosia of the senses, salvation of the mind, it had come to an end. As his perception came back to him, sometimes creeping, sometimes in an overwhelming flood, he realized that he clung to the bitch’s arms, that her venomous mouth drew away from his only now. Damn it all, he had given her leeway, however temporary. Regaining his composure, he allowed the drained look to seep in a tepid tickle away from his eyes, narrowing them in calculation once more. Damn you, oh fine seductress, damn you to me. Dance the devil’s dance, we’ll see who wins.


"Unchain him," , but bind his wings, she ordered. "I will give him further freedom when he has proven his loyalty." The manacles fell away from his wrists and ankles, but they were trivial! His jolly little bells, the clinkers remained, and what help was that, what aide! If the searing, white-hot strain on his back was to remain, what was the use! The clinkers, oh, those merry little chortlers, he couldn’t stand them, so why did they stay?! Melchios dug his fingers into her arms and growled, a sound rumbling deep in his chest, lips curled back to expose glinting teeth. Unaffected, she waved her hand towards a basin of clear water, purling, "Use it as you will. Another will bring you clothing suitable for your faery rank and show you to your quarters. When the hour strikes, we will talk.”

Rising with a feline grace, she removed his iron grip—there had better be bruises!—and added, looking only at the other Raí’alssa, as though he were ineffectual!— "If he makes any move to escape, run him through."

Stepping out, the door clanged shut. As the wooden port’s sound reverberated around the cell, the captive faery rose lazily to his feet, standing tall, with squared military stance; straightening out to drown out the laughing song ringing in his wings. “Just you and me, pet,” he murmured, brushing past the alluring woman—ha! The chit was a wraith to the tigress!—he availed himself of the clear water, skimming the surface with the emaciated fingers of his left hands before trailing them through and with the rapidity of a heron who’s spotted a fish in the water, snatching up a handful to splash over his face, grinning savagely as he felt the water clearing tracks through the grime. Ah, to be clean! To not be a filthy, detestable little maggot wallowing in the accumulated filth of caked blood, unwashed sweat and ugly, horrid squalor! With the fastidious relish of a cat, he laved his arms, spruced the back of his neck and continued on his face. When all had been done, he retreated to the opposite side from the Raí’alssa mage-woman, leaning nonchalantly against the wall. He cared not a whit to conceal the luxurious snarl of a smile his lips had curled into as droplets dripped onto the stones, cold air nipping him. Ah, but this was so much better, so much! He was clean, and numbed by chill from the clinker’s song. Never had he had to fight with the dedication of one against all odds, for as a rich child, he’d almost inherited the position of Arandein and luckily proved to be rather well-suited to it; this would be interesting.

He was on his way to the top.

[ShadowWake]

((Hylas))

With a few words of warning, Tarn disappeared into the tree canopy, the faint rustle of leaves loud in the ferret’s keen ears as a few drifted slowly down to the floor. Still tense, Hylas fixed his gaze ahead, curling closer to Selan’s neck for comfort. It had just seemed so... wrong.

Seconds passed – dragging slowly into minutes – and finally fed up with waiting, the young shifter scrabbled down the woman’s arm. Taking a few darting steps forward he paused - turning to face Selan questioningly – and shifted into his wolverine form. Running a few strides towards the direction where the hunter had disappeared, Hylas spun again, fixing his dark eyes upon the woman’s rich blue.

Come on! he pleaded silently, He may need our help!

Eventually Selan began to follow and Hyals allowed her to draw level with him before continuing, nose turned to the wind. So many smells! It was always so enlightening being in an animal form. Colours were clearer, sounds were sharper and the scents! It was like being colour blind for a lifetime and then seeing a rainbow in its true, refracted glory for the first time. There was no other way to describe it. He could smell Selan beside him: a wonderful mixture of flowers and cotton and... and something else... what was that smell? Out of the whole of his family, only his nana had the same hint. It was... what was it like...? It was a bit like flint sparks, but not quite...

Skidding to a stop, all thoughts were immediately wiped from his mind as his gaze lit upon the decimated village. Like a statue in the clearing, Tarn stood motionless, bow gripped loosely in hand as he surveyed the destruction around him. But the village! Ash floated through the air like dry snow, swirled into eddies by the light wind and giving a grotesque image of the holiday season that sent an unwanted chill down the boy’s spine.

Instinctively, Hylas backed up slowly until his rump rested against Selan’s legs. Shifting out of nervousness, the boy clambered onto the woman’s shoulders once more, his ferret body slipping beneath her long hair as he wrapped himself around the back of her neck. They had come across plenty of sites torn by the march of the Rau-lass but none as completely... decimated... as this one. There weren’t even any bodies.

Just like at home... a cold voice spoke into his mind and it was a moment before he realised it was his own. Unable to help himself, Hylas trembled, long, furry body shivering in horror. Just like home.

------

Make them stop! Make them stop! Make them STOP!

Tiny paws pinned his own ears to his skull, black eyes peering through the thatch and shimmering with unshed tears. Marta had told him to hide and hide he did, shifting into the smallest weasel he could and weaving himself into the scratchy straw of the main barn.

And there she was - the little bristling wild-cat - flailing and scratching with all her might at the man with the writhing hair as he lunged for her, strong arms wrapping around her stocky form. She wasn’t screaming - no, Marta had never been one to scream – but he could see the fear in her golden eyes: a fear that usually she refused to show. Marta had always looked after the younger ones.

A high-pitched shriek caused the little weasel to start, gaze snapping to the ground below where a young boy – barely three years old – lay limp in a pale-skinned woman’s arms; in fact, if not for vicious-looking sword at her side and the deep black tentacles that slid lazily around her head, she could’ve been cradling him... but, no: the boy had been sedated by some means – magic probably. He wasn’t dead – Hylas knew that because she still held onto him. Those that were were scattered about the dry ground like dolls: most of them adults. Granda was there... and Nana... but he refused to look – told himself he would not remember them this way – would never remember them this way...

As the first flames licked at fur and cloth, the tiny weasel was already gone, only to return to ash and smoke.

((Selan))

Soon after Tarn's departure, Hylas climbed again to Selan's neck, he seemed to feel comfortable, there, and she was fine with it.

Eventually, she followed Hylas -who had shifted again- to the forest in front of her, which had a really menacing look. She walked along with a still cheerful Hylas, in the shape of a wolverine. Soon, every thought it had been running through her mind, simply vanished. Something far more important had taken the whole place.

A devastated village...abandoned? Not quite, but there was not a single body. Selan knew the meaning of this, and looked to the ground, praying for those who lived there. While doing so, she felt Hylas against her leg, and soon, in a moment, he was already on her shoulder, hiding under her long hair, wrapped around her neck. She placed one hand on the little head of the shifter, and caressed him softly, trying to calm him, since she had felt him trembling. She decided to let him stay there, but she would take care of the little one.

And there, standing without moving a single hair, looking at the village, there was Tarn. The hunter seemed to be so shocked, and as she walked slowly towards him, she kept praying, although this time it was praying for their own safety.

The whole village was...ash was floating around, creating a thin and dirty mist. Death mist, Selan thought.

"Tarn..." she spoke, finally, breaking the uncomfortable silence the three of them were sharing. "We've got to leave this place, Hylas feels evil in here. I feel it, too, and I am sure you do, as well. Let's not stay, alright? I'm worried this place might be dangerous...please..." as she said the last bit, she grabbed the hunter's strong arm, as if she was a little girl, trying to avoid feeling scared. However, she knew what was the cause of all this, and she had been able to fight it...at least, in the past...

Selan then thought it would be a good idea to try and leave wrong hints of they had been, just in case they were to be followed, and so, she looking to the ground, and she muttered, trying to avoid any of her two friends to notice. "Oh, wind...you rule this place...allow us to escape, lend me your help..." and she rose one hand, finishing her spell, trying to make it look like a natural movement. She didn't want to be discovered.

Soon, the wind was blowing to the 'wrong' direction, so if someone was to notice their smell, they would notice it only in a place they hadn't been nor a place they were going to. Selan smiled, hoping it would be useful. She turned to Tarn again, trying to convince him to leave.

((Lysander))

"Thanks plenty, good sirs," Lysander said in a carefully refined backwoods burr. Ciach, humans were so uncouth! He'd no problem with acting as one of course, for the entire task was deceptively simple; all one had to do was brush hair over the elegant tapers of his ears, adopt a stupid, simian expression, walk like a lumbering ox (really, that was the worst part-- it was as though these apes bore no grace), and ditch every inflection of higher breeding or knowledge that might stray into one's speech. Ugh, the barbarians.

The two merchants whom he'd addressed nodded with tight-lipped smiles, unable to disguise the relief on their features when the traveling man and his young boy Cadoc strode away, the latter looking back at the with large, naive eyes. Well, the boy was a good actor, you had to give him that. And with their elvish features dulled to a humanoid degree, their bright locks dyed brown, and the hue of the hazel eyes so close to the child's brown, they truly did pass off for father-and-son.

Damn. He'd never hear the end of this. The elf, alias Gerthan, bent down to the lad Cadoc, asking him in paternal tones, "you tired, son?" To which the little one nodded, his perfect mask of feigned fatigue deepening into a yawn. Mid-yawn the snotty creature stretched out his arms to hook Lysander around the neck; the mildly disgusted nobleman slid his arms around the child and heaved him up onto his shoulders, where his partner in crime could properly survey the landscape. If the benefits didn't outweigh the negative aspects of this arrangement, I'd be free of this. But no, Foertis just had to... I bet he enjoyed that. Yes, I'm quite certain he took a savage sort of delight in this infernal deal, I'd not put the business past him...

Oh. A nudge on his shoulder from Caelen's drumming feet told him to turn right, in the general direction of an inn, but not to much nearby it. These ventures were steadily becoming riskier, for the two elves were four hour's trek away from their underground base-- the risk of discovery here, so close to the structure, which without Lysander had lost its main protection-- was not to be taken lightly. The boy understood at least, and he truly was intelligent, very nearly acting his part better than Lysander himself. Hm. That lot of carriage men-- he could ask for the price of a coach, a lease of two days at least, as that amount of time was sufficiently long for him to worm in questions about dangers on the road and to his child-- from that, the Rau-lass. Joy.

[ShadowWake]

((Altair))


“Wait.” Aerain spoke, her gaze flashing to Diarmuid's before resettling on Altair. “Of Lysander’s whereabouts, I don’t know much,” she said cautiously, “But it has been rumored in the elven capital – and among those villages I have searched – that he is... has been seen with the faery mages I am seeking.”

If the man were a dog, his ears would have pricked up at that; as it were, his mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed. Well could he recall the day his impetuous brother had told him as much, well was he aware of the dangerous traps his sibling had dug. The fool hadn't even had the care to warn him of the news he was giving-- they'd been in the midst of a duel, soaked in water, dirt from his magic clinging to his brother's hair, though Lysander heeded it not, his fair face aglow with ferocious zeal as he sent an inferno at Altair. As the elder sought to quench the spiraling flames Lysander told him, voice raised to be heard above the din of the duel, "This'll be fine practice for the battle-front..." That was how the beloved brat told him. No warning at all. None.

Their faery guest took to pacing, her wings stirring up dry, dead leaves. “I have been... requested... to find him as well as the members of Sorea Pardai’s battalion who were not present at the fall of Occalus. Like yourselves, I do not believe they are dead. I believe they are hiding. From what, is another matter entirely: though if it is solely their own cowardice then the faery mages will have a lot to answer for. Your brother...” Caiseal leaned forward, haughty visage trained on the woman. Hazel eyes traced her movement, back and forth, back and forth, and on the tip of his tongue was what they all wanted to know-- what did he do?

Diarmuid whined low in his throat, crouching by Niall's long legs, one hand curled determinedly around his uncle's, which was spotted red from scratches-- the child's nails, probably-- and the other flat on the stony ground, his thin, spidery fingers, digging hard enough into the rock that it seemed they'd be rubbed raw. Niall bent down, stroking the child's bare back as he sought to pry loose his hold on the marble. Look what you've done now, Lysander. This isn't small, this is incomparable even with the time you incinerated Caera's beloved plants in anger, this is real, and you've hurt us all. Hurt me, your brother.

“If I find him," Aerain murmured, back turned to the minor assembly, " I will allow him to make his own decision regarding his return home for I cannot force that upon any innocent man.” Pivoting sharply on her heel, that exotic woman fixed Diarmuid's feral gaze with her own, a look not unlike sympathy struggling to be shown. Gently, she said, “But I will return to tell you of him." To Altair she added, “If that is acceptable. And, in answer to your question, I'd like to know anything you've heard or seen of Signum Vulnus, Foertis Deus and Argenti Malkeya over the past few months.”

"Foertis Deus I know not of, nor the Faery Malkeya, but of Taladei Vulnus, we know much," the elf growled, before Evander broke in. "I believe he preferred to be known by his healer title, Altus," the elf sniffed, his apparent disdain ill-concealing the anger vivid in eyes. "Yes, we know of the Vulnuses," he spat, "we know perfectly well of them. His mother, Arden Amadias, was a close friend of mine, as well as of Eithne, Caiseal, Faolán and Niall, the uncle of our dear Diarmuid." The rangy elf grew stony at the mention of his name. "Evander, " he murmured, "I'm sure our guest wouldn't be concerned with--"

"AND I'm sure she is," Evander airily interjected, continuing unfazed. "Well, what was I saying? Arden. She was a sweet woman, who had the ill sense to follow romantic, girlish dreams --and let herself be married to a brute of a man deserving the lowest of names in the pits of hell for being so callous and insensitive to his young bride-- simply because of you faeries' ill-conceived sense of honor, for he'd begotten her with a child. Wedlock is frowned upon those races that practice marriage, no? When they were joined in matrimony, he desired to leave the Northern reaches--"

"Yes," Caiseal interrupted, lips curled in a sculpted sneer. "So much the better to be at the capital, where he could keep up with news on the war front. Bastard. We lost contact with Arden, shortly after we received the news that they'd be leaving. Her jealous husband dared not let her even go bid us farewell, so sensitive was he to the fickleness of a young woman's love." At this, Niall blushed a faint pink and looked away, squeezing his nephew's hand. "We didn't know--" he whispered, "we didn't know of her-- her death until last year." Glaring at the leaves scattered between Aerain's boots, he hissed, "the bloody bastard-- his wife was young, too young for labor. It was her or the boy--" he murmured, "and he chose the boy. He chose the baby over the woman depending on his protection-- and they'd spent three years here before their move, not saying a word. We knew none of this until last year, for our government was only too willing to give one of its greatest aristocracies as much information as it could on the happenings at the warfront. Only because Lysander was there, of course."

Diarmuid glanced up at the man, rising to his two legs again to stand companionably by his side. "To cut a long story short," Evander resumed, we discovered that the second-in-command and High-Healer was none other than the illegitimate son of Arden and Damerius, Signum ("sounds like something the moron would saddle a boy with, too" Faolán muttered). Obviously we expressed our interest-- it was then that we found out that sweet, guileless Arden had died because of the clod she'd married." The nobleman took pause here for breath and to collect himself. He went on, "we knew not of lad, and demanded information of him. It wasn't too hard-- the fellow held little in the way of secrets. If I'd hazard a guess, I'd say he takes the core of his nature from his mother. The reports stated a close kinship with the late Commander Pardai. Her deatn must have wounded him deeply, I imagine."

"Yes," Altair muttered, tight-lipped. "So of course, he'd be seeking ever manner of passive revenge against they who struck him the blow, would he not?"

((Caelen))

"Thanks plenty, good sirs," Daddy said to the humans, his voice sounding quite odd. As they walked away, Caelen turned around and gave a small, shy smile to the two men, before returning his attention to the road in front of him. He wanted to sprint ahead of the older elf, laugh with joy. He was the first one to ever go on any kind of mission. He couldn’t wait until his classmates heard about this; they’d all be so jealous!

But he had to earn the privilege, of course. He’d gotten lucky this time, because Healer (the elf couldn’t pronounce his rank title properly) Deus had argued with Daddy for awhile, saying why he should go with the mage. In the end, the faery had won, and now he was here, with Daddy, going on a grand adventure. Caelen just hoped that he wouldn’t mess up, because then they’d get discovered. And even if they didn’t, Daddy might not let him tag along anymore.

So far, Caelen believed that he was doing a good job. There had been a human at his orphanage who had also been his roommate. As a joke once, they had taught each other to act like the opposite race and had switched places. Everything had gone fine until Fae class, because the teacher was mean and didn’t think that it was a good joke. But that wasn’t the important thing. It was that Caelen knew how to act like a human now. (His history teacher had taught him how to do it right during detention.) All you had to do was walk like your weapons teacher had gotten mad at you a few days ago and made you run a lot. Other than that, you just had to look cute.

Suddenly, Daddy leaned down and asked, "You tired, son?" almost frightening the younger elf out of his wits. Remembering himself just in time, he nodded sleepily, yawning and wrapping his arms around Daddy’s neck in a silent demand to be carried on his shoulders. He obliged, and Caelen rested his head on the other’s, eyes half shut. Bad, bad, bad, he mentally scolded himself. To be a good assassin, you always have to pay attention.

Through his half-lidded eyes, he glanced around, feeling another thrill of joy rush through him. Daddy was so tall! While it was fun to ride on his shoulders, it was also another reason that Daddy could never be a good assassin. Even though Samir was almost as tall as Daddy, Samir had been born in Cetairiacelos, so it didn’t count.

Caelen almost giggled as Daddy was about to pass an inn. He gently kicked the elf, reminding him to pay attention. As they approached some more people, Caelen made sure that he looked tired. While he wasn’t sleepy, he still had to act like it. Someone had told him that humans got tired faster, and since Caelen was pretending to be a human, he had to pretend to be tired. If real missions were like this, Caelen couldn’t wait until he was old enough to go on one. With Daddy, of course.

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

((Samir))

With a sigh, Samir pushed himself away from the desk that dominated the room. Rubbing his forehead wearily, he rose and began to pace around it. Healer Deus had taken control of the kids—thank goodness—and was teaching them something. Healer Vulnus and Anahita were practicing their skills with weaponry, and Lysander was who knows where. The fact that Caelen hadn’t run in screaming about his newfound refusal to learn, Lilith guessed that Caelen would be found with the mage.

Samir sighed and stopped pacing, glaring at the map on the desk. Healer Vulnus had commanded her to look at a bunch of reports and the map to plan where the two healers would strike next. The frustrating thing was that the reports were few and far between, and Lilith didn’t feel that she had enough information to even begin to formulate an idea. Something kept on bothering her, though.

Samir continued to pace around the desk, turning over various facts in his mind. She had begun to wonder what would be done with the children, especially since the two faeries seemed to be constantly bringing more and more to this stupid hole.

Pausing, she traced the coastline with her finger, calculating. The children couldn’t stay here, that much was certain. It was a basic rule that the more people you had in one spot, the harder it became to avoid detection. Not to mention the fact that soon there would be too many children to properly supervise.

But if they could be safely transported to Feaiceo, or even further north… the Avelate wouldn’t refuse to give them shelter. Combined with the seasons, and the location, the sea wouldn’t be frozen solid, and if one were to sail north, one would arrive just when the ice would be breaking up for the summer.

Samir traced the coastline one more time before turning and striding out the door, jumping down the stairs two at a time. He had an idea; it was still sketchy, and there were a lot of questions still left unanswered, but it was an idea nonetheless.

He barely noted them, so lost was he in the surreal essence that permeated the burnt-out husk of a village. It seemed ... Peaceful, in a deathly, bone-chilling way. Massacre done to perfection so as to leave no trace, arson performed so that the flames licked only the wood of the buildings the dead once resided in. Or were they dead ? Perhaps it had been one huge kidnapping, a raid with no bloodshed, albeit broken bones and beaten heads. Whatever it meant, there was no life left in this place, no ghosts or plaintive calls from the underworld either. There was silence, and slight wisps of smoke, and Tarn felt so foreign in all of this, so out of place. He had no place here.

They had no place here; Selan was right, they had to leave. Selan ... It was at the thought of her name that the hunter realised her tentative grip on his strong arm, smooth hands, cold from the weather, holding onto the coarse skin of his burly arm. As he relished this link back down to the material, to the present, he let a gloved hand run down the burnt length of the arms of a house, a trail of black lining it as the charred wood left its mark, stained his hand, that had no place here, no right to touch it.

"Yes, we must leave ..." he stated coldly, hooded head turning to Selan for an instant as he lightly tugged his arm out of her grip, lifting his bow anew. "Quick, the wind blows away ... he continued, as indeed, the wind picked up, carrying their scent, and the smell of smoke, away, and to the left, though he knew not that it was Selan's doing; we'd best go now."

And at once, he left, a slow pace as to let the others reach him, but a decided one. He wouldn't dally any longer in this dreaded place, nothing could be done for those wrenched from their lives and homes by whatever evil force had done this, could only continue on his way, and hope that he could, if only by coincidence, find those responsible for this, and help them. If, and only if, he didn't end up worsening their fate, like he'd done so many times in the past.

[ShadowWake]

((Argenti))

“Argenti?” Phoenix called, the wind tugging at her words. “Argenti, I swear I just saw a scout: mounted – just below that ridge, where the pass is. What do you make of it?”

The faery rode up beside his lover, his mount’s breath crystallizing in plumes of vapour; his own eyes were narrowed against the cold, which seemed to barely register itself to Phoenix—the young woman’s depressed spirits had seemed to wane with the lessening snowfall. Her strange, constant unease continued to nestle in her, revealing itself to Argenti only in brief, tell-tale moments of darkness.

Perhaps part of the reason was that they’d yet to find their lost comrades. Lilith and the Dei he could understand—they seemed to have disappeared as smoke in the winds, a relatively easy task when one had their means; that Signum might erase his paths to go into hiding with Dei Sorea was also probable, if only because of his ardent love of his friend. But Foertis? No, not he—the man would have revealed himself the first chance he had, if he wasn’t searching for them as well. The cease in snowfall had hastened their progress to such a degree that the pair had decide to skip fortifying their supplies at Silvanos and make straight for Occalus instead, come what may. The surest place to find Dei Pardai at least was back at the side of the Arandein, with the rest of the military brass. Assuming that the rumours of Occalus weren’t true…

Sharp rays of light shone, reflected from a familiar sight. Phoenix muttered something under her breath, reining in her horse. “Vado,” Argenti swore softly. “What’s a regiment doing here? It can’t be that they’re…” He glanced side-long at Phoenix, thinking, it can’t be that the Raí’alssa want her, that they’d try so hard for one prisoner. They could, though. If their searches had revealed anything, it was just how long the Raí’alssas’ influence went.

The faery bit his lip in thought, examining the surroundings. Damn the bright light, reflected with such radiance by the yet-meting snow. He’s show up as a clear beacon in the skies. If only it were night, when the darkness facilitated his other magic. Shadow-magic could get them out of here, but only them. The horses were too much for his forcefully maintained distance from that power.

Touching Phoenix’s shoulder, he murmured, “I believe I could use the shadows on us—only the pair of us. Travelling on foot would be harder, but we could remedy that y forging on during the dimmer hours of the day; that way, I could safely fly you across some distance without risking detection. If not that, then we could simply turn back and take a longer route, but this pass is the fastest way during the winter. What say you, Major Ambey?”

((Aerain))

Aerain listened carefully at the overlapping conversation of the Ælfers, her frown deepening with each revelation. She had known very little of Sorea Pardai – enough to know that she was a perfectly capable Commander and one worthy of the brash faery’s consideration and obedience – but of the Dei’s personal life, she had known nothing. And of Sigunum Vulnus she had known even less: a faery healer who seemed to attach himself to the commander’s side with – as most thought – the sole intent in her protection. And now... now, apparently, there had been something more.

Dei Pardai’s death had shocked them all. Some had claimed her incompetence but Aerain relied enough on her own personal judgement to know that it couldn’t have been the case. True, she had not been present at the faery’s demise – she had been in the midst of battle with most of the other mages as they desperately tried to hold ground – but it seemed unlikely that the commander would go down without a fight; or that she had died without Signum’s knowledge. And considering the latter had simply... disappeared...

Maybe she had judged too quickly? From what Aerain had pieced together of the elves’ knowledge of the healer’s background, he did not seem like the kind of man would would abandon his comrades due to cowardice. No, he sounded much too tolerant and tenacious to have simply given up, but he did seem the kind of man who would seek a measure of justice against the wrongs he had been dealt.

Aerain was reminded of her own father: a strict and unsymapthetic mage who was nonetheless fair in his judgements, fighing to prove his opinions with a fierce zeal that was not uncommon in the military. In many ways, she was as alike to him as the rain was to the ocean... but equally, she was just as different. Never had he lain a finger upon her or her mother – often his disappointment bore as much of a wound as a punishment would – and she could never see a reason for anyone to do so.

And yet none of this seemed to be helping in finding the lost mages; in fact, it was proving to be more of a mystery as to their location than before. In a motion of habit, Aerain moved to rest her hands upon the pommel of her swords, feeling a strange sense of disconnection when she realised they were no longer at her hip. Folding her arms instead, the faery frowned, wings twitching slightly into a position of more comfort.

“He would not have returned home, then,” she mused – partly to herself. But what else could he do? A single faery could not defy the greatest threat to Audro in centuries – certainly not passively in any case – so what did he hope to accomplish by vanishing into thin air? And what about Lysander? If he could abandon his family so without any prior warning, what motivated him to follow a mourning faery into a plan as insubstantial as a path through marshland?

“It was easier when I believed them to be deserters,” Aerain muttered almost inaudibly, pressing a hand to her brow in consternation, “Now I don’t know what to believe.”

Her bronzed gaze was virtually impassive as she lifted it to meet Altair’s, attempting to control her frustration as much as she was able – after all it was not the fault of the elves that they had complicated matters: they had been more than hospitable under the circumstances and she could not lay her concerns on them without feeling an inordinate amount of guilt.

“I thank you for your aid – and welcome –“ she said grimly, “But it may be better if I don’t linger too long: there is a lot of land to cover in my search and considering much of my information is based on rumours, I shouldn’t dwell too long in one place or I may miss them passing. And,” she added, her bright eyes darkening ominously, “The sooner I find them, the sooner I can return to my duties. As much as the elven council may deny it, they need our aid: I have seen what the Raí’alssa can do – did – to Occalus. I will not let that happen again.”

((Nstif'ikta))

My Lady... came the silent request and Nstif’ikta paused in her writing, setting down the long, ebony quill before settling back into her chair with crossed legs. Blinking once, she slipped into her mind, the dead air of the prairie surrounding her motionless form as her gaze lingered lazily over the hazy figure before her.

”What is it, Mys’lin?” she drawled wearily - tapered fingers wrapping slowly around the arms of the mahogony chair - and the Rau-lass soldier made a short bow, the fine, tentacled ends of her plait twitching nervously beneath her helm.

“This morning two mounted travellers were spotted heading for the lower pass.” The warrior answered promptly - her voice echoing slightly due to both distance and the amount of magic it took for the link.

Immediately, the Queen straightened, knuckles whitening as she gripped the hard wood. “Of what race?” she snapped, crimson eyes piercing the black pupils of the woman before her, and unnerved, the Rau-lass stuttered slightly, her form fading and reappearing as she sought to control her magic. Tutting, Nstif’ikta rolled her eyes and substituted the link with her own magic; the soldier’s curved figure instantly clarified.

”At the moment, we’ve not been able to determine...” Mys’lin began but her liege interrupted sharply.

”Then find out,” she retorted, leaning forward in her seat as her hair whipped about her head, an unforgiving glare pinning the woman, ”If I find Ambey has escaped my grasp again, I will not be as forgiving as I have been. The human is not to be killed – despite any resistance she provides – but the fate of her companion is not my concern. If it is not Ambey... kill them.”

”But, my Lady,” the Rau-lass attempted tentatively, dark eyes widening in concern, ”They may know...”

Pale fingers digging into the prairie dirt, Mys’lin screamed in agony, her mental capabilities too weak to protect herself against the anger of her Queen. Nstif’ikta allowed the woman’s shrieks to ring around the walls of her mind, tearing at the soldier’s essence like a hyperactive terrier shaking a startled rabbit. Images flashed over the grassy plains... no... NO! please... stop it Hurts it HURTS! forgive me my Lady PLEASE!

Dropping her subordinate’s conciousness, Nstif’ikta stood from her seat, lips curled into a sneer of distaste. ”If it is not Ambey,” she repeated, her words as sharp as a blade, ”Then you will kill them. I have no need for further information. You will report by sundown: is that clear?”

Leg wobbling like a newborn doe’s, the Rau-lass soldier stood, raising a single hand in an unsteadily salute. ”Perfectly, my Lady.”

With no further word, Nstif’ikta cut off the connection with an abrupt snap, focussing once more to the near distance. Her chair rested gently against the back of her knees but the Rau-lass Queen was no longer in the mood for paperwork; ignoring the pile of parchment on her desk, she strode from the room, making her way towards the lower quarter where Melchios had been temporarily housed. Her beautiful, mad, angry Arandein... it was about time he became rather more useful.

Smiling, she paused at a large, worn doorway, drawing a long iron key from beneath her robes and slipping it into the heavy lock. The loud clunk of the latch announced her presence as clearly as any knock – though Nstif’ikta never would have given him such a privalage – but nonetheless she stepped soundlessly into his quarters. The faint jangle of chains suggested the faery was busy in one of the other chambers and so, pulling a chair from beneath the small desk, the Rau-lass Queen quietly sat, waiting for Morteza to re-enter tha main chamber.

It wasn’t as if she was short on time, after all.

[ShadowWake]

((Phoenix))

“I believe I could use the shadows on us” Argenti answered, yet his voice held more than a trace of concern as he lay a gentle hand upon her shoulder,—”only the pair of us. Travelling on foot would be harder, but we could remedy that by forging on during the dimmer hours of the day; that way, I could safely fly you across some distance without risking detection. If not that, then we could simply turn back and take a longer route, but this pass is the fastest way during the winter. What say you, Major Ambey?”

Phoenix started at the name, turning to look at her companion with a half-smile upon her face. “Don’t think you can avoid making a descision by quoting my title, Talanthae,” she retorted, the dry amusement masking her concerns a little – though not as much as she had hoped. Pausing for a short while, she focussed on the track ahead – white disappearing into more white and then on to the clear blue of the sky – her hands shifting the reins restlessly as she thought.

“We’ve spent much too long chasing rumours,” she told him with a frown, “and, at this point, I’d much rather find out the blunt truth of it – despite any thorns – than wander ‘round for weeks more...”

But what to do of the horses? If they let them loose with saddles and bridles then those that were ahead would suspect – and likely come to a pretty accurate conclusion – as to the nature of their abandonment. Yet they could not afford to carry the weight of tack as well as their provisions, little that there were. The nearest tree-line was behind them and, even if they hid it well, a saddle was a hefty item: if the scouts decided to establish a search then it would not be long before they found evidence of deception. And then the Rau-lass would be on them like hounds to a fox.

Deception. That was the only way it was going to work and neither Argenti nor herself were illusionists. Sure, they – he, she corrected quickly – had shadow magic but as he said, it wouldn’t shelter the mounts as well... and she’d be damned if she would so them any harm to suggest that they had fled...

Wait a minute... Sliding from her saddle, Phoenix set her booted feet firmly upon the cold ground, indicating for the faery to do the same. “We’ll go with your suggestion,” she said, holding onto the reigns of the black steed with a single hand, the other loosing her dagger slightly from its place at her side. The steel glinted sharply in the light, the delicate elven artwork highlighted in the sun’s rays and, in a swift motion, she slid her palm along the fine edge, slicing a deep line into the flesh.

Gritting her teeth against the sting, Phoenix curled the injured hand into a fist, allowing fat red droplets to scatter over the pristine snow before running the bleeding palm along her mount’s thick coat with a muttered apology. The beast huffed, agitatedly pulling at the tough leather, and the woman turned, finally releasing him: grabbing her pack with her wounded hand she slapped the horse on its rump with the other and, hooves skittering slightly upon the snow, her mount galloped towards the tree-line, ears flat against his dark head and brown eyes wild.

Turning back, Phoenix flipped the knife fully from her belt – her blood already beginning to stain the bright silver – and tossed it to the ground. Pulling their belongings from her sack, she tucked them into the bag upon Argenti’s saddle and then proceeded to tear the rough material, vaguely aware that what she was doing could actually be rather amusing if it weren’t for the seriousness of the situation.

“I’d do the same to your mount,” she muttered, ripping a stronger section of cloth with her teeth to avoid the irritation upon her wounded hand, “But Nstif’ikta has enough sense to test the blood traces, so it’ll have to be your own. If we want this to work, we have to make sure it looks... authentic...”

Finally satisfied that the bag looked as though it had been raided, Phoenix tossed the remains to the ground, turning her emerald gaze upon her lover with a smile. Excitement flashed through the green depths like wildfire as she raised an arched brow. “Looks like I need a healer; Talanthae... if you would so oblige?”

((Kaedo))

“When we capture him, can I hurt him, or do you just want me to drug him?” Jael queried, his dark eyes round, innocent of sin, before adding, “May I bring Sasquatch, or do you want to hold him and see if your allergies went away?”

“One of these days, you’ll have to explain the concept of allergies to me in a coherent manner,” his friend replied. “And no, you keep the cat. As for the boy,” he cackled, “I doubt he’ll suspect his own fellows would drug him!”

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

The small boy trotted gamely after his somewhat older companion, dusty, tanned skin left bare save for the trousers he wore. The lad he went with was somewhat taller, oak-hued and rough about the hands. They sought out their friend, who worked for the man running the stall by the carpet seller’s. They themselves had been given leave for twenty minutes of play and they doubted the third lad’s master would keep back his apprentice for so short a time—all work and no play made for sullen workers, after all.

The footprints left by their bare heels were soon stomped out by the crowd at the always-busy outdoor market, full even in the heat of noon. Of course, the desert-sun wasn’t so full and scorching now that the colder seasons had come, if cold this was. Soon they chanced upon the carpet seller, hawking his wares. “Come buy, come, a fine silk-weave with woolen frame; so small, yet seventy by ninety knots, at a bargain price! Come now ladies, don’t dawdle!”

The pair slowed their jog to an ambling walk now, like two leggy colts at the pasture, brushing past the women who’d flocked to the stands. “Cheat,” the smaller boy muttered out of the corner of his mouth to the taller. “Silk on wool, my eye. He’s just shinied it up so’s he can fool ‘em.”

Stopping short of the spice-vender’s stall, the two lads called out a “Ho!” in lieu of knocking nonexistent doors, the cry bringing out the vendor. “Pardon us’s, sir,” the small one said, one hand clutching his wrist, his toes scuffing the dirt. “But our mas’ers said we could go out an ‘ave some fun for a bit, so we was wonderin’ if mayhaps Karl ood like to come wit’ us. It’ll only be for a lil’ bit.”

The man of broad girth rubbed his chin in false speculation, though the bright twinkle in his eye spoke his decisions as clearly as any voice. “Fine then, lads, Karl’ll be right along with you,” he spoke, turning then to summon room the depths of the stall the auburn-haired lad. “Karl, come on out! Skip and Toussain be waiting for you!” A young voice responded from within, “coming, sir!” following by the very lad who’d run to report to the guardsmen of the Rau-lass. He looked a bit out of breath, slightly hollowed about the eyes; now there was no doubt that the Rau-lass had sent their own mages, only to find that the elf was gone, already taken away by a man whom they hadn’t sent. The poor envoy would have had to suffer for that. Still, dimples adorned his smile as he joined the other two. The trio made off, as innocent to the eye as any a group of rambunctious boys would seem, gamboling and running along their way until they came upon a street that was quite deserted.

Now. The tall Toussain turned around the catch Karl as he tripped over Skip’s foot.. “Touss, get off,” the lad laughed—so like a mouse! Toussain released him wordlessly, stepping back to observe his handiwork. Still smiling, Karl took one step back, then another. Like a faded flower, the light laughter fled his lips, unconsciousness taking him.
The other two boys exchanged a look. “Right, then,” Skip stated, getting to his knees. “I’ll rifle through here, see what I need to eliminate. Then we just might have to visit the Grand Palace, no?”

((Lysander))

Gerthan drew short by the coachmen, pulling his son down from his shoulders to cradle him in his arms. Yet another good thing about his face being relatively unknown: elaborate disguises were dispensable. Before Samir had come along and helped make them pass off for complete humans, Lysander had done this charade looking near-elvish. Whether he willed it or not, he had to say that the young albino was acceptable to the verge of being near likable.

“Good e’en, sirrahs,” He hailed the coachmen, who slowed their furious sucking on the long stems of polished pipes, before resuming (though now they’d adopted a ridiculously business-like air. Please. As though they stood a chance bargaining with men of worth). “And same to you, fine sir,” a seedy-looking man answered; he had a strange look about him, a near-insectile look that reminded Lysander strongly of the shifters. He didn’t doubt that there were some here, who remained in their human forms to avoid detection; that this man was one of that race was, unfortunately, quite unlikely. “My good men,” He continued, “my son and I,” he indicated a sleepy Caelen, half-slumbering in his arms—great fates, the child weighed much for one so young—“are travelers, northward-bound.”

“Aye, I catch yer drift,” said one man, tipping his head. “Heading away from the darker times? Well, I wish you luck there. Isn’t a soul that can keep running from this.” Averting his gaze, Gerthan stated stoutly, “there be no running here, for there is naught worth fearing. We have relations further north, and my wife is with them. We’re reuniting.”

“No running, that’s wot all of their lot say,” one unpleasant character scoffed. Lysander’s eyes flashed towards him, pinning him down, conveying through that suddenly haughty countenance all the scorn he felt for these low, dirty little human creatures, pretentious animals to assume such a tone with him! “That sort of talk,” he murmured angrily, “gets the noose’s reward, for me, my son and you. Guard your tongue.” Nodding hurriedly, the oily thing muttered its apologies. A middle-aged man stepped forwards, clapping the elf’s shoulder.

“Eh, don’t mind Nathaniel!” He laughed. “The man’s all talk. Now, north-bound, you say? Just so happens I’ve got another pair lined up to head there to, an’ I told them, so I did, that it’d be my pleasure o’ course, but only if I could get another pair o’ passengers, for the fee, you know.”

“Yes, of course,” Gerthan replied, all keen-eyed interest now. “Now then,” the human continued, “they’re a real nice couple o’ people, husband and wife going to see relations, near about like yerself, eh? I can promise you, there won’t be no better deal than this’n, and I’ve an eye for such things, the trade and all. How about it, eh? You up for the offer? It’ll not stand forever, you know, and it’d be a shame to tell them folks that I can’t take ‘em up just because of a fee.”

The mage hesitated, appraising the other candidates. On the whole it seemed to him that he and Caelen would get their best deal here. “Very well,” he replied with purposeful deliberation. “Those be acceptable terms. We’ll only be going for two day’s worth, I warn you.” The human gave him a magnanimous wink. “Ah, don’t worry yourself, sire,” he laughed, “the other pair would only be going for three day’s time as well, you’ll only be a day short.” Gerthan nodded stiffly. Somehow, he was beginning to have his doubts concerning these ‘passengers’…

[ShadowWake]

((Foertis))

"Come on, Anahita!" the faery urged, "just strike at him!" He'd finished tutoring the children early-- or rather, it had been cut short. Anahita was an able swordswoman, or at least was acquainted with the blade. Her problem, though, was that she bore only the sufficient mastery of weapons necessary to make and test them, no more. And as Signum had found, when she'd been fighting him and stuck her swordblade through his stomach, only to watch in horror as he nonchalantly pulled it out and healed the wound, she was squeamish. Hence the figure she now fought.

The young woman parried the flaming swords-man-- not Foertis, but rather a humanoid pyre wielding a torch of a blade-- flinching as her weapon sliced through the flickering fireman's abdomen. The mage let his magic die, the figure scattering as though before a wind, with naught but a few sultry ashes on the floor. His face gleamed with perspiration and his breath came as hard as Anahita's own; the control necessary for such an undertaking, the very finesse he didn't possess, had taken more energy than he'd supposed it would. Truly he was overestimated by Signum.

"Much better," the other man murmured, "but why do flinch, even before an effigy of fire?" Flushing, she retorted, "well-- it's just-- it's fire for goodness's sake! And the metal conveys the heat, I can feel the burn in the air, it's-- it's a natural reaction." Though her words were upset her voice was laced with the interest of a student willing to learn from a teacher. How Signum could have so much patience, Foertis knew not-- he'd lost his temper more than once at the girl, singing her badly enough that Signum had called a cease to the mock duel to heal her. His lips curled up with ill-held choler as his counterpart corrected her, adjusting her grip and reviewing her reactions. Honestly...

((Jael))

Jael walked with Kaedo—or at least, the person he thought was Kaedo—following a pace or two behind him. As they passed through the market place and by a carpet seller, his drastically shorter companion whispered to him, “Silk on wool, my eye. He’s just shinied it up so’s he can fool ‘em.” The taller boy turned to look at it a moment before continuing. “How can you tell?” he asked. His companion didn’t answer him, instead calling out to Karl’s master, asking if Karl would be allowed to play with them.

The boy that emerged was the one that Jael had seen in the marketplace the other day. The boy’s hair had just enough brown in it to add a dash of color with the gray. Jael assumed that he had to have red hair—the elf had found that green, red, and blue gave him trouble—for humans didn’t naturally have hair with shades of green and blue. Unless it was dyed, of course.

His eyes, though, belied his smiling face. They seemed rather hollow, as if the lad had undergone some sort of torture, which, if Kaedo said was true, had happened. Jael felt an inner twinge of dislike. Kids had never been his favorite age group, even when he had been one himself.

They ran off then, until they reached an empty street. The voice—No, Jael corrected himself, Kaedo’s voice—thought now, and Jael obediently turned around to catch Karl as he tripped over Kae—Skip’s foot, just as planned.

As his fingers brushed against the other’s arm, a small metal wire nicked the human’s skin, delivering a small but potent dose of poison. “Touss, get off,” it laughed, and Toussain obliged, quietly counting to himself. 8… 9… 10. He thought, noting with a small thrill of satisfaction as the human passed out. “Nighty-night,” he said, smiling at the sleeping boy.

Toussain looked at Skip then, waiting for further instruction. “Right, then,” Skip said, dropping to his knees, “I’ll rifle through here, see what I need to eliminate. Then we just might have to visit the Grand Palace, no?”

Jael smiled, also sitting down in the street. “Ok,” he said, rubbing furiously at his eyes. His head throbbed, and he felt so… stretched. It was as if Kaedo had placed another soul within his body, and it was trying to take over his thoughts and actions. I wish it would just hurry up and decide already, he thought irritely, not entirely certain what he was thinking about, just knowing that it felt right somehow.

He glanced up the street, just in case someone was coming. Thankfully, no one was… yet. A small, cold voice made itself heard just on the edge of perception; not enough to hear the words, but enough to know that it was there. Jael stopped rubbing his eyes and waited, waited for his mindset to shift from this bloody no-man’s-land that combined them both to one or the other. At this point in time, all it would take would be one small, nearly insignificant detail to push him one way or the other. Until then, he would just have to put everything else on hold.

((Altair))

“He would not have returned home, then,” Aerain mused, breaking off and lightly pressing fingertips to her brow. “It was easier when I believed them to be deserters,” she whispered.[i] “Now I don’t know what to believe.”

Her russet eyes lifted to meet Altair’s, her inner frustration showing only scantly on her features, such was her control; a control which lit a spark of envy in he whose face could be read like a book. “Sudden news, I imagine, he replied softly, “but I take faith not from the faeries, but in my brother. He has his vices, but should you ever chance to meet him, you’ll find him unswerving in loyalty.”

“I thank you for your aid – and welcome –“ she said grimly, “But it may be better if I don’t linger too long: there is a lot of land to cover in my search and considering much of my information is based on rumours, I shouldn’t dwell too long in one place or I may miss them passing. And the sooner I find them, the sooner I can return to my duties. As much as the elven council may deny it, they need our aid: I have seen what the Raí’alssa can do – did – to Occalus. I will not let that happen again.”

Caiseal scoffed unintelligible words under his breath, pivoting on his heel and gesturing that his twin, Faolán, take leave with him. With identical nods towards the faery, they strode briskly away, banners of hair floating in the wind of their wake. After a moment’s awkward pause, Evander said, “Forgive me, but I hardly find that plausible.” Niall glanced at him, then back to Aerain, murmuring, “Uncle, I’m sure that’s what the faeries thought; we elves are ostentatiously slow in our ways, perhaps a result of our longevity. The faery-folk too share this flaw. Engage not in this foolishness, you are not even of that covenant.”

“Bí ciúin, Níall,” the elder elf shortly replied, at which the addressed averted his gaze, focusing instead on his nephew’s gleaming locks. Glancing at the pair, Altair said to Aerain, “I understand that your need is pressing, but the road is a long and hard way to travel; will you not stay for a spell, to rest both you and your mount?” At the last bit Diarmuid glanced up and grinned, the sort of grin where the mind superimposes sharp little canines over the rounded human teeth.

[ShadowWake]

((Melchios))

”How, then?” She asked, eyes wide—not innocently though, no, never that in his pet—more of an interested look, a seductive look. Not a woman of stunning beauty was she, yet the manipulations of movement, the artistic pout of her lips and the coy peek through feathery lashes—therein lay her allure.

Ah, she’d been so foolish, so completely naïve, such an overconfident little bird, to think she’d caught his heart. His lustful soul, bound to her! Melchios laughed, laughed merrily, candlelight glinting off his teeth. No proud oak or iron post could match his carriage at the moment, a bearing that were it a manifest creature would have been born of the consummate lust between military and shackles, training and pain and gods dammit, why did the foul, wretched little hell-bells have to stay on him! When he had them trapped, had his precious, beautiful, gloriously black angel, when he could break that back with hate, oh, he would use the clinkers on him, he would sow the seeds of misery and raise them into a thick bramble thicket, he would do that and so much more! And when his cygnet grew accustomed to it, he’d place them together, the fallen star and black angel, and see then what would happen, Astrophel and Signum, Astrophel who killed her, Signum, his Altus, who’d failed to save her! Traitor!

“AAAARRGH!” He growled, groping around until his fingers closed around a heavy goblet that had earlier contained mulled wine, brought by the Raí’alssa; he hurled the heavy object against the wall, screaming in furious, burning RAGE! Damn the black-face liar who’d swore, begged, pleaded to be with her only to fail, fail, FAIL him when his real test had come! Oh damn the two-faced pigeon!

”Simple, pet,” Morteza murmured, stroking her soft, strong wing. An involuntary tremor ran through her—whether real or not, he couldn’t tell. That prompted ire, it did; how dare she be illegible, if even for a moment? He couldn’t see through that one tremor! Whirling around suddenly, so that he towered over her, his wiry arms pressed on either arm of her chair, he purled, snarled, “quite simple. First you find your prey, you feed them on their emotions and then—then you do it.” He laughed low in his throat, lifting a hand to stroke her jaw, tracing a line down her neck and stopping short, just above her collarbone. Little Pardai swallowed then, and he had her again, he could read her. Her motions, then—they were only part acting. She felt some of her action and simply exaggerated that to aide her inexperience—oh, the little fool, she would be so much easier than she thought. Kaedo really had let her depend on telepathy too much. Now she was all alone.

Breathing hard through his teeth, panting in hissing breathes of barking perplexity he turned about, greeted by his own reflection. Pausing, he craned his neck forwards, not unlike a bull issuing challenge to its equal, all strained muscles and bulging veins. But ah! Gah, he’d forgotten the little satanic chains binding his wings back! Howling in sudden shock, his hands flew up to tear at his hair, the one repository left to him as a funnel for his exertions, his tumult of emotions that had been so controllable, the madness held at bay until she took him and broke him! Grinding his teeth against each other, he returned his gaze to the mirror, lip curling back in scorn of the loose skin, ribbed chest, deep and still-muscled—he’d had to work for his prowess, by the gods he had! Not like some pampered whelp of a mage—and narrowed his eyes, glared through the wings of his brows; there, that was the lion! Prowling through the room, he rifled flippantly through a small selection of faery clothes—their own, or taken and washed from dead prisoners?— he selected a tunic of deepest red, as smooth and shining as her blood must have been when Astrophel had had her.

He stood opposite him, clothed in shadows, hair running in a loose plait to his ribs. Such long hair, so enticing, so black, with curls that made one think of the bowers of his lips, pale, sensitive, feminine—this was what she saw in him, it must be that! Yet those grey eyes, they were stormy, they thundered and flashed and begged to strike dead the sun shining before his form of moon-lit night. Angel indeed.

A brush dragged its talons through his hair, bit and clawed at the strands, some dark, some light, so very diverse, none willing to yield to the oppressive teeth forced into their presence. Yes, fight, fight, fight, oh belligerent rebels, stave off the inevitable! Savagely he tugged the brush through his prison-matted locks, viciously he jerked the shimmering threads from the teeth of the device, tangling them into a little ball which he casually tossed into a candle’s flicker, paltry flame. See how that weak thing readily consumed the weaker strands, oh how it hungered to dominate where it could, unwilling to show how weak a fire it really was—silly flame, stupid candle! In two long strides he’d reached it, in a pinch he’d snuffed it out.

Again he looked at his reflection; again he narrowed his eyes and snarled at it, simultaneously pulling his hair back into a ponytail only to release it, letting the striped locks fall on his shoulders. Stiff Bellator had worn it thus, the mahogany-haired, falcon-winged man he’d sent with her, never saying why... he too had failed his Arandein, he too had let fate take its course, but he’d been witty, cunning; in his suicide he’d avoided the Altus’s future, allayed the hand of cruelty unsought. No weapons… at least the bitch could have left him a dagger, some sublime blade of hungry steel to rip at the weak little threads, the shining angel-strands of his hair! Gnashing his teeth in fury, Melchios instead consented to pull back the foremost locks, securing them behind his head to keep off the rest of his hair.

A heavy sound, the mumbling mutter of heavy metal pressing deep into a lock, passing far between the two wedges of metal to press in close darkness at the tumblers barring his escape announced her. It announced her, yet he didn’t move; indeed he grew still, so still that he may well have been a wooden statue. Ears straining, he listened for her footsteps, biting his tongue till blood tinted his teeth when he heard none. In low, menacing footsteps he entered the other room, glaring at and appraising her. He let her see his emotions, their full tide swelling and churning then, with a slightly mocking smile, let it all melt into the composure of the military, let it dance wickedly behind the fallen curtains of the stage. “My liege,” he murmured, and laughed.

((Aerain))

Two of the elves left with a brief acknowledgement and Aerain returned the nod, her gaze impassive as she watched the identical pair leave. Not for the first time, she wondered whether she should've made an attempt to word things differently... however, it was the truth - no matter how blunt it was - and at least they had a chance to see where she stood. A little less quiet about his concerns, the elder elf spoke aloud. "Forgive me, but I hardly find that plausible."

“Uncle," the man named Niall said quickly befor Aerain had a chance to respond, his voice as soft as the wind as he fixed her gaze with his own, "I’m sure that’s what the faeries thought; we elves are ostentatiously slow in our ways, perhaps a result of our longevity. The faery-folk too share this flaw. Engage not in this foolishness, you are not even of that covenant.”

Grateful - and a little confused - by his support, the faery gave the elf a small smile. His dark eyes dropped, surveying the boy, Diarmuid, as the elvish tongue snapped out to chastise him but Aerain allowed the smile to play across her face for a little longer. Here was the evidence that faery's and elves still yet shared a bond: however small or overwhelmed it was.

“I understand that your need is pressing," Altair commented, whether in an attempt to ease the tension or simply in conversation, she didn't know, "but the road is a long and hard way to travel; will you not stay for a spell, to rest both you and your mount?”

The young's lad's eyes lit up, his grin virtually splitting his face, and Aerain's caramel gaze flicked across to the mare still milling quietly beside her. Her little ears were pricked as though listening to the conversation - though she doubted the beast could understand much of what was said - and with a deep breath, the mage nodded, calloused hand reaching out to pat the bay's soft neck.

"She has not been ridden long," Aerain replied, meeting the elf's gentle eyes, "But it would do no harm for her to have a decent rest. And I have a feeling she will be in good hands here..." Flashing an amused look at Diarmuid - who seemed now to be more excited than agitated - she then lifted her eyes to her surroundings.

The trees... they were so different to her mountain home! Life still, even when the chill winds bit at the world and tried to turn it against them – so unlike her beautiful, barren home – the whispers of the forest loud against the moan of the breeze. Never had she missed the starkness of the granite peaks and yet she had never longed for anything else. But, maybe, it would be nice to rest awhile.

”I will accept your generous offer, thank you,” she answered him eventually, her dark eyes surveying the forest once before returning to Altair’s calm gaze. She flashed a small smile – surprisingly easier than it had earlier been – and waved an expansive hand at her mount. ”If you wish it,” she continued, certain that her eyes were sparkling despite her efforts, ”’Aolani may stay more permanently; I fear she does not like our travels much and though I am not as fleet-footed as yourselves, I have enough stamina to carry me as far as necessary. Neither is she suited to the mountains - to which I would have to return to after the Elven city – nor do I think she will make a good war-horse in Duilliúir: she would be far happier, I feel, if she were with good company.”

((Caelen))

Caelen snuggled deeper into Daddy’s arms, vaguely aware that he shouldn’t be sleeping. Rousing himself just enough to pay some attention to the conversation—which seemed to be passing at a speed far too fast for it to have been in Common—he caught various numerical values. Caelen decided that he really wasn’t needed right now, and that he would be able to help Daddy better if he had a small nap.

Sometime later, Caelen awoke with a start. Sitting up—he had been slouched over, leaning against Daddy’s arm—he looked around in a panic, his fingers reaching towards one of Samir’s daggers that he had… borrowed… and stuck in his shoe. His baggy trousers had covered it, though, so it wasn’t very noticeable.

His eyes flew around the small coach and, once he had determined that, so far, he and Daddy were alone, he reached up and clasped Daddy’s hand. After giving him a somewhat sheepish grin--he had fallen asleep, after all--he glanced outside the window. It was cloudy, the sky a drab gray that promised rain in the near future.

Caelen sighed, suddenly feeling very homesick, or rather, countrysick. There shouldn't be normal rain at this time of year; there should be sleet, hail, snow, or a combination of those. And the trees were different, not to even mention the fact that he felt very alone. There was an odd sense of comfort being surrounded by fellow assassins, even if you knew that someday they would probably try to kill you. Their profession--or the one they worked towards--built a bond between all those involved. And here... here he was by himself, without the proper training or even right to do so. Samir didn't really count; he just wasn't the stereotypical assassin. He didn't even accept missions all that much--he just worked in the library most of the time. For a moment, Caelen considered telling Daddy all of this--after all, weren't parents supposed to talk to their children about such matters?--but decided against it. He wasn't an assassin, and wouldn't understand.

The coach drew to a sudden halt, and a couple got in. The woman was rather plain looking, with brown hair and a cotton dress. The man, presumably her husband (Caelen still didn't understand why the other races thought that marriage was so important), was of average height, and had a slightly muscular build. However, his age showed in a few wrinkles about his face, as well as the gray sprinkling through his hair and a slight girth.

The two murmured a few polite greetings before falling silent, obviously wanting to keep to themselves. Caelen gave the woman a small smile, shyly burying his head in Daddy's arm. He didn't like these people, though. For reasons he couldn't name, they made his spine crawl. Even though he had his misgivings about the pair, he said nothing of the sort to the elf. Even if he had been able to tell him so privately, he wouldn't have. Daddy was the one in charge, and he could also take care of both of them if something bad happened.

[ShadowWake]

((Samir))

Samir glided soundlessly down the hall, opening one of the many doors just in time to hear Anahita say, "It's a natural reaction." Motionless, Samir waited as Altus Vulnus corrected her grip on the sword. Another memory rose from the icy depths of her mind of another such woman, only shorter.

"Kalila! Pay attention!" Cyril, the elf's master, snapped. "Yes, sir," the woman said, picking herself up and returning her attention to him once again. Lilith watched the two as they fought, marvelling at the grace with which they moved. Several bouts later, the brown-haired man sheathed his sword, indicating that his apprentice do the same. Kalila's olive skin--an unusual color, considering how far north they were--glistened with sweat, and she was panting heavily.

“How many times have I told you to pay attention today?” he asked, glaring at the shorter elf. Kalila shook her head to indicate that she didn’t know as she caught her breath. “Too many,” he snapped. “You have to focus, otherwise you’ll be sliced to bits. Take Whitey’s teacher as an example,” he said, pointing to Lilith. “He doesn’t go easy on you guys, does he?” Lilith glared at him and didn’t answer.

“Master,” Kalila sighed, “She has a name, and it isn’t ‘Whitey’.” Cyril shrugged, a glint entering his eyes. He said something in rapid Courtly Elvish, and Kalila gave him a royal glare. Spinning on her heel, she tossed her dark brown plait over her shoulder. Kalila linked her arm through Lilith’s, dragging away the taller elf. “Come on, Lilith. We don’t need sarcastic comments from old people who have nothing better to do than to beat up their apprentices and try to be funny. Besides,” she teased, “it’s my turn to watch you get scratched up.”

Lilith sighed, allowing herself to be lead towards the clearing where Professor Jael held his classes. “Please don’t say that so loudly,” she mumbled. “Professor Jael doesn’t need any encouragement from anyone, least of all you.”

Kalila then stared up at her, rich brown eyes turning as large as saucers. “Would I do anything to cause your demise?” she asked innocently. Lilith ignored the puppy-dog eyes that looked as if they would never even dream of harming a fly. Professor Jael got that look in his eyes too, when he was hyperactive. His students had found that it meant far worse things for them than the piercing glare which tore through their souls.

"Sometimes living is worse than dying," she quietly said as they entered the clearing.

Jerking herself back to the present as Altus Vulnus stepped away from the faery, Samir said, “Altus Vulnus, um, when you’re done, and if you don’t have anything else to do, may I talk to you?”

((Hylas))

Finally they left the broken remains of the village and Hylas loosened his hold around the woman's slender neck, steadying himself easily with her gentle swaying as she walked. I'm not scared, he told himself, though not very convincingly, I just like being high up for a change. It was enough of an excuse to settle beneath her long hair, draping his long form across her shoulders like a stole. And, he finished sleepily, I can keep her warm too...

--------
The chill wind was a lot colder when he awoke and the sun had virtually disappeared beyond the treeline. Tarn and Selan were talking in low voices and it took a while before the sleepy shifter could work out what they were saying... something about stopping the night? No, stopping for the night - that was it. Lifting his nose, Hylas sniffed the air, scenting the breeze for anything concerning. Nothing. Pricking his ears, the little brown ferret listened carefully and, finally, after sensing that they were alone, he scrabbled from his perch atop Selan and shifted into his human form once more.

"I don't smell anything bad..." he confirmed aloud, the words seeming strange coming from his mouth after such a long silence. Reaching high above his head, the boy stretched, shivering slightly as he exposed his stomach to the chill night air. "Or hear anything unusual," he added with a yawn, "Are we staying here tonight? I'm hungry. Can I go hunt? I wanna see if I can catch us a rabbit - I'm sure I heard one not too far away... How far have we got to go?"

((Altiar))

"She has not been ridden long," the young warrior replied, "But it would do no harm for her to have a decent rest. And I have a feeling she will be in good hands here..." At this last word she glanced with amusement at Diarmuid who, like a squirrel that suddenly realized it had been observed, darted behind his uncle. His wide eyes danced mischievously though, and unbidden one of his wolf trotted past Altair to sniff the air around the equine, moist nostrils flaring. Satisfied, the obedient beast strode back beside its puppeteer.

Aerain continued, ”I will accept your generous offer, thank you; if you wish it,” she added, the light of a twinkle in her gaze,, ”’Aolani may stay more permanently; I fear she does not like our travels much and though I am not as fleet-footed as yourselves, I have enough stamina to carry me as far as necessary. Neither is she suited to the mountains - to which I would have to return to after the Elven city – nor do I think she will make a good war-horse in Duilliúir: she would be far happier, I feel, if she were with good company.”

Altair smiled and bowed slightly. "It is not we but you who has been generous," he said. "We elves can accumulate much wealth over the course of our lives; the short time you spend here is not worth so much as your mount." Though other might view it differently,, he thought, noting how the youngest of the assemblage continued to gaze fervently at the mare-- Aolani, was it?

With all said and done, the Congregation immediately disbanded, with elegantly murmured pleasantries and excuses to both Aerain and their relatives. "Faedra," Altair added, calling upon his cousin. "Do show Aerain to an indoor room, won't you? I travel little, I must admit," the elf confessed to the faery with a wry smile, "and my last venture beyond my home-forests was fifty years ago. However, as I recall, yours is a race fond of open spaces, is it not? I'm sure then that you'll find our accommodations are adequate for your needs."

Running a hand through the short tail of his braid, he muttered, "please excuse me, now. I have another matter to attend to..." Namely that of Caera. Her untoward display in front of a guest wasn't exactly the sort of image the family wanted to send across (Lysander might have a bone to pick with that) and he needed to find her, at least to wring an apology out if nothing else. With a perfunctory nod in the direction of the two women, he swept away, reflecting dryly, now into the maw of the tempest do I descend.

[ShadowWake]

((Nstif’ikta))

Ah, Morteza... Morteza, Morteza...

Her fine, proud lion was regaining his claws, those sharp little knives that threatened and yet could do no more than cause scratches, though still he tried. Smiling, Nstif’ikta allowed her own feelings to flicker across her emotive features: amusement, lust – yes, that wonderful sin – and a cool slice of anger at the faery’s complete disregard to her authority, despite his words.

”Morteza,” she purred, tapping her nails gently against the dark arm of the chair, ”Both of us know you are no more my servant than I am your Queen, so let us not pretend, shall we? You are a prisoner of war, my pet - thus you shall be treated according to your rank – however, you are still just that: a prisoner. If you leave these walls, you will be shot down. End of story.”

Pressing her pale palms against the hard wood, the Rau-lass gracefully rose, her hair coiling languidly about her shoulders. “Still,” she soothed, settling her crimson eyes upon the deep brown pools of the Arandein, ”There are some privaleges you may gain in your stay. Your chains for example...” Nstif’ikta waved a nonchalant hand at the fine, silver shackles, her black lips curled slightly. ”Do they not bother you so? And I’m sure a man of your status is feeling quite lost without his blade...”

Turning her back to him – almost teasing him with her lack of concern: he could, after all, do nothing without hurting himself – the Rau-lass Queen ran a finger along the edge of the desk, lifting it for inspection and frowning at the grey fuzz marring the pale flesh. Rubbing away the dust with the ball of her thumb, she spun around once more, her scarlet gaze piercing.

”A coin for a coin, my dear faery,” she stated plainly, no trace of a smile now left upon her full mouth, ”I have allowed you a small amount of freedom – a freedom which many of my kind would not even think of: now you must offer something in return. If your information is pleasing and sufficent, I will allow you one privalage of your choosing; if not...” Nstif’ikta shrugged without expression, ”Then I will let you wallow in your own misery and anger until you decide my way was better after all. What say you, Melchios?”

((Melchios))

Cackling inside, the Arandein leaned forwards just barely, moving the slightest fraction towards that gloriously rotten blossom. Inside, he laughed. He laughed because he knew he'd gained the upper hand, had grated harshly on her, that he was climbing, climbing, climbing, ascending to the seat of power once more. Then, like an icy pond's seemingly lifeless depths disturbed by movement beneath the still ice, her features shifted, gave way to the rich mural of lust, pride, amusement... amusement! So he amused her, did he?

”Morteza,” she spoke, words rolling off her tongue like acid honey, ”Both of us know you are no more my servant than I am your Queen, so let us not pretend, shall we? You are a prisoner of war, my pet - thus you shall be treated according to your rank – however, you are still just that: a prisoner. If you leave these walls, you will be shot down. End of story.”

He coiled back, a hand flying to his throat as though he were choking-- yes, choking! Bereft of breath by his hatred of her, of that foul little hyena, so cool and collected, so utterly unfazed! And what was wrong with him, what happened happened to him, that he bore not the patience to see through her, to weather the insult! Why had he let her break him, allowed his spirit to be crushed to this debilitated state! Why?! Him, a prisoner to this wretched hound-- not he, not ever he. The vicious, vile, easily delivered affront stung him like the sour taste of bile in the mouth, it made him want to rend her, cleave her, split her thrice-accursed form with a sword if it came to it! To call him a prisoner, of all the ugly, stupid, idiotic things! How dare she! Prisoner, now am I... prisoner...


Weak little creature, am I? he snarled, silly little bird, caged by your bed? Ah, if only the situation were reversed, if she could have but gazed on him in the height of his reign, when he ruled supreme-- yes, ruled, for that old, ancient faery king, pulled about and wheedled and whined to by his three highest men, by his Arandein and the loathed other two, he could have hardly been called a ruler. No, no, never that man... If she could have seen him, gazed upon the sun of his strength as it scorched the earth, would she called him imprisoned?

Glancing mockingly at him with her eyes like bloody meres, she murmured,“Still, there are some privileges you may gain in your stay. Your chains for example...” the bitch waved a clawed hand at the sparkling clinkers, her mouth curled slightly-- ah, how that disgust at the source of his weakness rankled him!-- and continued,”Do they not bother you so? And I’m sure a man of your status is feeling quite lost without his blade...”

Just give them to me, and I shall strike you into place... just give them to me, AND I WILL BREAK YOU TO MY WILL! Let him move and strike as he used to, and her without the crutch of magic, she would be a little sparrow in his grip, he could clench and twist her fragile breasted until he crushed the very breath of life from her soul. If he was free to move, free of chains, free to fly again...

She would break, she would fall, she'd be another Sorea Pardai, yet so far away! She and Sorea, her soft name rolling like a lover's caress into lighted pools of thought, hers so harsh, like the enticing edges of shattered glass flung down the abyss... she would be her again, yet never again her.

”A coin for a coin, my dear faery,” she stated plainly, and he wanted to hit her and smother her pouting mouth, ”I have allowed you a small amount of freedom – a freedom which many of my kind would not even think of: now you must offer something in return. If your information is pleasing and sufficient, I will allow you one privalage of your choosing; if not... Then I will let you wallow in your own misery and anger until you decide my way was better after all. What say you, Melchios?”

What say you, what say you, what say you! WHAT SAY I, as though it would be of any significance to you, oh tantalizing monster who'd dare call me prisoner! "I say yes," Morteza snarled, his hand shooting out to slam on hers, fingers shaped into hooked talons. "I say yes," he growled, face twisted into a gargoylish mask of unbridled pride and fury, the stallion who only seeks a rival's downfall, "I say yes, and damn you with it." Then it all melted way, leaving the Arandein with a smile on his lips, a mocking twinkle in his wood-brown eyes, so close to the Rau-lass before him that leaning forwards, he stole a kiss and stepped evenly back, gasping once as the chains bit into his wings. "But," he added, "I will give you nothing if I even suspect you've crossed me, nor will I these chains abide any longer."

"This places seems good. We have shelter from the wind, somewhat, and cover. The brush will do well to hide us, and it is late, there's nothing better to do than stop."

After a couple of hours walking, maybe more, Tarn and Selan had decided to stop. After leaving the charred village, they'd taken to their new course once more, and while keeping their wits about them, had not made any attempt at hiding their presence altogether. Still, the wind had blown favourably, carrying their scent far away, and even at this time of the year, it was surprisingly warm, not hitting your skin like a scythe through ripe wheat. Although feeling its bite, Abileith voiced no complaints of the chill; it was his folly to go about wearing no shirt !

Even though the images of those husks of burnt-out houses clung to their minds, and even though they were still the only image left there, neither had talked of it. Indeed, the trip had been silent, both respecting Hylas' need to sleep, and also because there was nothing to say. The most golden words, Tarn had found, were shared basking in the gleam of a campfire, where only Nature could hear the words you said.

And now they stood in the small clearing, surrounded by brush, and just close enough to be tickled by the wind making a weeping willow's mane of hair, thinned at this time of year, caress one's skin. The hunter, cross-armed and with his cowl now lifted, so as to also let his own hair be tugged at by the cold breeze, to billow slightly, as it hung lifelessly in the air, a ghost torn between two realms, both doors beckoning for it to enter.

"Night has finally set, there's no better place, so let's ..." Tarn was interrupted, as Hylas' once small and lithe form darted off Selan's shoulder, landing neatly on the forest floor as he morphed back to his human form, becoming once again a little boy who'd seen far too many hardships in too few years.

"I don't smell anything bad..." the boy stated at once, understandably eager to talk after hours of cautionary silence. "Or hear anything unusual," he continued, a yawn escaping his mouth. "Are we staying here tonight? I'm hungry. Can I go hunt? I wanna see if I can catch us a rabbit - I'm sure I heard one not too far away... How far have we got to go?"

"Calm down there, young one; started the hunter, and at once the boy's eyes seemed to dim. To counter this, Tarn quickly continued, voice slightly low, as if too scared of breaking the silence that drowned the night-time forest; We need to get camp up first, and besides, I think it's only smart you don't go alone. I'll come with you, but let's just settle in for a few moments first, get some shelter done and a fire going so as to not lose ourselves in the darkness."

[ShadowWake]

((Selan))

This places seems good. We have shelter from the wind, somewhat, and cover. The brush will do well to hide us, and it is late, there's nothing better to do than stop. Tarn spoke. Selan nodded silently. She really wasn't in the mood to talk. She had remained silent almost all the time since they had left that village. She had been glad to notice that, with the wind blowing away, the place wasn't particularly cold, meaning they would be able to rest better, for sure.

The image of the devastated town had remained in her mind, and she was still shocked, even if she was trying hard not to think about it. Selan felt Hylas curling around her neck, and, while he was sleeping, she'd sometimes check on his temperature. Thanks to Hylas, she wasn't really cold, but she was worried about the little boy.

Finally at this clearing, they were silent, the three of them, perhaps waiting for someone -or something- to break the silence. The night had set some time ago, and it was really dark. She really didn't like darkness, and this was the hardest thing she had to suffer during the last months, darkness. All her life had been darkness. From her hair to the tip of her sword. And she still had darkness. This was the reason why she wanted to find this strange temple.
Finally, Tarn spoke, once again. Night has finally set, there's no better place, so let's... but was interrupted by Hylas, who went down to the ground, only to shift back to human shape. Instantly, Selan felt the difference of temperature, and felt the cold around her neck. She smiled faintly.

I don't smell anything bad... Or hear anything unusual. Are we staying here tonight? I'm hungry. Can I go hunt? I wanna see if I can catch us a rabbit - I'm sure I heard one not too far away... How far have we got to go? A yawn escaped his mouth as he was speaking. He seemed glad to be able to speak again, after that much time...it was normal, in fact. However, suddenly, the thought of 'catching' a rabbit made Selan feel sick.

Tarn answered Hylas, wanting to protect the young boy. Calm down there, young one, we need to get camp up first, and besides, I think it's only smart you don't go alone. I'll come with you, but let's just settle in for a few moments first, get some shelter done and a fire going so as to not lose ourselves in the darkness

Selan addressed the two of them, now. "I'll take care of the fire, myself...we should be dividing the things to do...if Hylas goes after something, you should take care of him, I will do the rest...besides, I wouldn't like to be alone in this darkness..." she shivered. "By the way...do not catch anything for me...I don't really want to eat..." she knew it wasn't good, not to eat, but she had gained weight again, so she was healthy, thus skipping a meal would not hurt her. And she really felt sick about eating an animal. Specially if they were to kill it. She knew it was the same, if she killed it, or someone else did, but she just wasn't able to avoid it.

After saying this, she looked for as many branches and twigs as she might be able to find, since they would need quite a lot of them.

((Aerain))

"Faedra," the elf called after his pleasant appreciation of her mare – though for Aerain, the gift seemed of little consequence – "Do show Aerain to an indoor room, won't you? I travel little, I must admit," Altair smiled dryly, prompting the faery’s lips to twitch in understanding response, "and my last venture beyond my home-forests was fifty years ago. However, as I recall, yours is a race fond of open spaces, is it not? I'm sure then that you'll find our accommodations are adequate for your needs."

“I’m sure they will be far more than adequate, thank you,” Aerain answered, tilting her head in gratitude as the young-looking elf played with the tail end of his plait, his mind seemingly already elsewhere.

"Please excuse me, now,” he finished in an undertone, lowering his head in acknowledgement, ”I have another matter to attend to..." And with all the grace of his race, he swept from the courtyard into an adjoining section. Musingly, Aerain watched, her caramel eyes following him until he was out of sight.

-----
Harsh coughing wracked the small body, bones already showing clearly through the wasted muscle and crumpled feathers floating softly to the hard stone floor. Dark pools cast themselves upon her - hazy with lack of sleep and exhaustion – though they seemed not to recognise her; leaning forwards, Aerain mopped the pale, clammy brow with a cool cloth and the hollow, brown eyes closed once more.

“Aerain,” came the soft murmur from behind, “You need to sleep. Let me...” Ignoring the young man, Aerain adjusted the blankets slightly – enough to expose the young boy’s chest but not enough to chill his sticky flesh – and pressed a palm to the hot skin.“Aerain...” the deep voice repeated warningly.

“No, Terailan,” she snapped under her breath, her deep amber gaze unfocussing as she sank slowly into her magic, “You can’t help any more.”

Terailan was silent for a heartbeat and then a large, heavy hand rested upon her shoulder as he moved to stand at her back, buzzard wings gently tracing osprey. “Neither can you, Aerain,” he whispered and the words were like a sword through her heart, “You’ve done all you can: there’s nothing...”

“Yes, there is!” Aerain barked in response, her head bowing as she hid her tear-spiked lashes from the faery and voice catching in harsh gasps, “Yes. There. Is. I’ll just keep doing it for as long as he needs...”

“Aerain,” Terailan said hoarsely, his hand trembling slightly as he restrained his emotions as much as he was able, “It’s killing you...”

Rising from her crouch, the faery spun on her heel, fixing him with angry, pain-filled eyes. “And who says it’s not better off that way, Terailan?!” she sobbed, fists clenched, “Who says a mother can’t give her own life for her dying child?!”
-----

Turning, Aerain refocussed her gaze upon the fair elven woman before her, masking her turmoil with a small smile.

“I appreciate your family’s hospitality,” she said simply, inclining her head gratefully. “Though I feel I’ve caused not a little contention among yourselves. Honestly, I do not wish to inspire such conflict, but my offer still stands – as it always will.”

----------------------------
((Nstif’ikta))

"I say yes," the faery growled, bristling in anger and indignation. His tanned, knarled hand snapped out like a striking viper, gripping onto her own with enough strength to cause white fingerprints in the pale flesh. Instantly, the Queen of the Rau-lass froze, the furious twitching of her hair the only indication of the blazing rage beneath her skin.

Oh, he had pushed it... he had pushed it too far... Her own hands itched for a blade – a nice blunt one particularly – just as her enraged mind sought for her magic. Oh, to peel his soul from his agonising form, to dangle it before his still breathing body like a hunk of rotten meat before casting it into flaming hell! Oh how she wished WISHED she had just simply tortured him until he broke and died!!

"I say yes," Morteza continued. Did he know of the woman’s seething hate? Surely he did, for it emanated from her being in waves of molten steel, a searing rage that looked to burn everything in its path to dust. "I say yes, and damn you with it."

It is not me you have damned, my pet, the Rau-lass hissed into her mind, crimson eyes wild with smothered anger, Oh no, you have damned far more than you realise.

And then the Arandein’s ferocity was gone, replaced by an abominable grin as a flash of amusement swept through his brown gaze. Nstif’ikta only just managed to restrain herself from clawing out those muddy pools to spray their precious life-fluid across his smug features; instead her fist clenched, sharp nails almost breaking through the snowy flesh. With a short, sharp movement, the faery skipped a pace forward, crushing his lips against her before leaping back with a tiny cry.

Oh, she would make him scream...

"But," Melchios finished, acting as though they had simply shared pleasantries, "I will give you nothing if I even suspect you've crossed me, nor will I these chains abide any longer."

The Rau-lass Queen had had enough. Swifter than a diving falcon, the demoness swept forwards, slim hand wrapping around the faery’s emaciated throat as she brought her seething face a mere inch from his own, slamming him against the nearest wall. Trying desperately not to crush his windpipe – as she was his golden-flecked wings – the woman’s hand nonetheless trembled in fury, black nails drawing blood as she forced herself not to tear away the thin barrier between the air and his insides.

In a snatching motion, her free left hand slid behind the pinned Arandein, gripping his wings where they connected to his tanned flesh and, drawing in harsh, dragging breaths, Nstif’ikta carefully prised the words from her gritted teeth.

“Continue on this vein, faery,” she hissed in an undertone, her voice wavering in her rage, “And you will have neither chains nor wings to abide.” Lifting him from the wall and using his wings as a lever, she spun the faery to slam his face into the hard stone. She simply held him there for a heartbeat - willing herself to calm – and as the frantic lashing of her hair stilled, she reached with her left hand into her robes for the ring of keys, slipping the smallest into the lock of the fine chains.

Shoving him once more as the silvery links slid to the ground, the Rau-lass stepped a pace backwards, watching coldly as the black wings opened with a shuddering stretch and saying nothing. Let him speak first, she thought with eyes narrowed, He can decide his own fate.

((Lysander))

They look so... ordinary, Lysander thought guardedly. In a flash he regretted not having had sent Signum out instead of himself. True, he was sick and tired of staying so far from the sun's fair face, but even so, he felt somewhat... unsettled (anyhow, the sun was covered by clouds this day). Caelen smiled shyly, but he turned to bury his small face into the older elf's arms, fingers tightening their grip on his rough shirt-cloth. In an involuntary motion, he raised the other hand to cover the child's body.

Paranoid, are we? Lysander's mouth twitched in a slight smile, disguised hastily as a tight-lipped smile of greeting to the newcomers, when he recalled his brother's words. That had been about an entirely different matter, though; he had riled a great-great-something-aunt's pride and for days remained in fear of her possible vengeance, a fear heightened all the more by her curious detachment from her nephew. If you could only see what I've to fear for now, Altair. It was quite possible, he mused, that barring Dragutin Ælfher, the patriarch of their line, and a few odd men here and there, he was doing far more than the rest of his family had ever done to further a cause. I'm good, the elf thought smugly.

The earlier part of ten minutes elapsed with much of the reserved silence and general animosity of the times. Lysander hummed softly under his breath, stroking Caelen's hair-- a caring father, careworn and tired, trying to put his only child to sleep. Never mind that the snotty little nematode just had to put his grubby self on his clothes. After what he deemed enough time, he began to drum his fingers carelessy on the wooden edge of a carriage seat, the beat no less irregular for all the churns and tosses of the uncobbled road. Thrum, thrum. The man glanced at him, then resumed staring reservedly ahead. Thrum, thrum. By the lady, he must have patience. Lysander himself utterly despised the wretched cadence of tappings hands. Thrum thrum thrum THRUM.

Glancing briefly at the elf, the man grumbled in a non-confrontational voice, "could ye stop tha', if ye please?" Nodding his head, he replied in his gracious human burr, "why, of course; I'd not been aware of it. My apologies." The crude fellow grunted his acceptance and settled back. Got a bit of a belly, I see, the nobleman thought disdainfully of the fellow's excessive paunch. Ah, well. At least he'd opened the communication routes; now time need only play itself out, as indeed it did when Caelen sat up, tugged Lysander's sleeve, and murmured plaintively that he couldn't sleep, the coach was so bouncy.

The woman's weary, nondescript eyes suddenly lit up, and leaning forwards cautiously, as though afraid of incurring the elf's wrath, she spoke in a tremulous voice, "I... I had a small boy last year... before..." Her voice cracked and she blinked heavily, the tip of her nose pinking. Resuming, she said, "could I hold him, please?" Lysander paused, epression uncertain. On the one hand, he didn't know the woman; on the other, her grief seemed very real. With the painstaking agony of an over-protective parent, he replied,"I'm sure he'd not mind a bit. Go on, Cadoc." Inside, he glowed. Give her the kid, start a leisurely conversation, get information, return to Signum. Blast it all, he couldn't wait to get away from this human hellhole of civilization; it made his skin crawl just knowing the Rau-lass could be anywhere, any time. It really did.

[ShadowWake]

((Argenti))

Without warning, the knife bore down, flashing silver slicing through pale palm. "Phoenix!" Argenti exclaimed, as she made a fist, rubbing the blood into her horse's mane, before violently tugging out their belongings, placing them onto the back of the faery's mount, and proceeding to shred and tear the coarse cloth. He had an idea now of what she wanted; clutching Phoenix's arm to halt her rapid motions, Argenti muttered in an undertone, acutely aware of the danger nearby, "what in hell's name are you doing?"

“I’d do the same to your mount,” she replied, ripping a stronger section of cloth with her teeth; the flashing white put the faery in mind of the wolves she used to live with. “But Nstif’ikta has enough sense to test the blood traces, so it’ll have to be your own. If we want this to work, we have to make sure it looks... authentic...”

"Right," Argenti murmured. Nistf'ikta... he hardly knew about the woman, hadn't even known she existed until Phoenix had told hi of the imposing queen who'd condoned her torture, but she was a source of constant fear for Phoenix. She was what had kept them on the move for so long. Now he slit his arm midway down one of five surface veins, letting the blood flow in a steady flow over his steed's saddle, reins, mane and neck. The iron scent of blood and prompt dismissal of his companion had agitated the large charger, who reared away from the man he normally trusted so well. "Woah, now," the faery murmured, though his actions belied the calmness of his words; fingers clawed, he scrabbled at the mane and reins, making it look as though there'd been a struggle to stay on. Holding the skittish equine firmly back, the last thing Argenti did before unleashing him was to fish out a vial from his pouches. Throwing his arm back, he flung it at the nearest tree, using his magic to cause a silent explosion of gaseous vapors, which would cling to his horse and any area the beast would madly dash through; after all, would anyone expect a poison mage to go without a fight?

Phoenix tossed the now-tattered bag to the ground, raising her eyes to meet his. A curious emotion ran through them, eating that verdant green like a wildfire-- excitement. Great gods above, she's actually enjoying this!. “Looks like I need a healer; Talanthae... if you would so oblige?” Smiling ruefully at her, he replied, "you ought to warn me beforehand, love. Anyone else on the team, and you'd have been perfect... just your luck," he muttered, drawing out a length of undyed cloth and a small pot of honey, "to have the one healer who can't heal wounds? Ah, well." Scooping up a fistful of snow, he rubbed out the traces of fur from the horse's mane, following it up with a thin coating of honey; in his experimentations last year, the faery had found that there was a curious property in the substance that actually fought infection. To finish the quickly accomplished task, he wound a strip of cloth about his fire-bird's palm, knotting it off and bandaging his own arm as well.

"Be strong," Argenti warned lovingly, clasping Phoenix close to him. "Remember, we've no way out now but through the shadows. Resist them, my love, and look only to me-- ignore their clamoring cries with all of your will." So saying, he tightened his grip and allowed the darkness to trickle over them. He would never be strong enough to take them to that land beyond shadow, an accepted myth until Ciarán had taken them through its passes, but magic had he enough that he could let them become as shadows to the world, unseen wanderers of its paths-- unless light should happen to drive away the darkness.

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

((Kaedo))

"Elf at the stal..." heavy breathing, heart hurts, ran too fast. Masters scared him, the new beautiful ones, he loved them but they scared him "what's your name, rat?" Karl "Karl, sir mage." Angry face, purple robes, brown eyes fixed on his. Fear pounding through him, "Has no one taught you impudent little creatures how to properly adre... Kian Daughertn..." Running, running, running, can't run, can't move, the mage stood before him, bent down, wrenchd his head back, said something. To scared, don't know what to do. "There was NO ELF, BOY!" Quivering, shaking, hands tied to a post, couldn't do anything to avoid it it was going to hit him it was going to to hit him it was going to AAAAH! Tears, hot and heavy, tears and pain and blood and the mage's purple robes and his anger.... "Skip and Toussain..." Skip and Touss, waiting for him Smile, don't let the pain show, walking after them, Touss tripped him...

Kaedo left the boy's thoughts, grimly erasing the child's memory of Toussain's ever having drugged him, supplanting it with thoughts of the game of sones they'd never played, running up and down streets they'd never gone through in the past fifteen minutes, and ending it with them bidding eachother goodbye in this alley. Brushong his hands, Skip stood up, peering at the taller Toussain. "Got him taken care of," the child stated in a voice far too scornful for one of such youth. "Now... we need to find some mage name Kian." Brushing his hands off, Skip looked at the sky, squinching his eyes against the sun's glare.

"We've got pleanty of time," he muttered, looking back to Toussain. "I've altered the child's memories; he won't even realise it when he comes to, since that'll be when his recognition of events resumes. However, that'll serve us well only if the Rai'alssa don't try lifting the memory suppresion, for I doubt my waning strength would match theirs." Sighing heavily, Kaedo glared ahead. "Well, then," he stated tonelessly, "It seems that we'll be entering the mages' keep, doubtlessly filled to the brim with top-notch telepaths and fire-mages galore. Wonderful; I'm leaving Kian Daughertn to you, Jael. Let's try and find somewhere to rest first, though." Rubbing his shoulder in an almost ashamed way, the old faery mumbled, "I'm tired."

((Caelen))

Caelen peaked at Daddy’s fingers, which were tapping against the edge of the seat, and listened to them intently. He longed to make Daddy stop—he disliked the irregularity of the beat, made even more so by the bumping of the carriage along the road. But he did nothing; it wasn’t his place to question anything Daddy did, unless there was a very good reason for it.

After a few moments, the man asked Daddy to stop, and the mage did so, much to Caelen’s great relief. For some reason, he was staring to develop a headache. It was quite different from any headache that Caelen had had before; it didn’t throb and make his head feel swollen like some of the stuff the teachers with poison magic gave you, and it didn’t feel the way his head felt when he had been knocked about, or when his neck muscles had gotten all knotted up. For some odd reason, this headache felt almost as if… as if… something was trying to get in, which didn’t make any sense at all.

Caelen glanced at the two again, trying to make his gaze innocent and obvious. The didn’t look any different, so Caelen pushed it off. All of a sudden, he realized that the lady had spoken. The child’s heart sank as Daddy ordered him to go sit with her. However, he did as he was told.

In a few moments, he had begun useless chatter about various things, eventually turning to his “mommy” and why she wasn’t with them. He babbled for awhile, talking about when his mommy had lived with them, then finishing with, “An’ Auntie was hav’n a baby, but she gots’d sick so Mommy went an’ helped.”

He beamed up at the woman, ignoring the pain in his head that had been steadily increasing. “An’ now we’s goin’ to see her.” The woman’s eyes bored into his, and Caelen resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. He tried to shrug out of the woman’s grip, to return to Daddy, but her arms tightened around him, refusing to let him go.

He gave up, and turned to the mage, every fiber in his body screaming at him, telling him to run somewhere far, far away. “Daddy,” he announced, “I gots to go pee.” He added an urgent tone to his voice, letting his face suddenly fill with a desperate look that said that there would be trouble in the very near future should he be unable to relieve himself. In his eyes, he let just a hint of the panic he felt show through, hoping that the mage would get the drift and they could leave. Now.

[ShadowWake]

((Jael))

All of a sudden, a rush of cold, metallic voices entered his mind and Jael breathed a sigh of relief. They had nothing important to say, of course, for they were just small nails and the like—nothing that would have enough magic to start forming a vague sort of (for lack of a better word) intelligence. He rubbed his eyes, noting vaguely that the cat was still in his arms. Scratching it underneath the chin in an absentminded way, he looked up as Kaedo said, "Got him taken care of. Now... we need to find some mage name Kian."

As his fellow—who still looked like a child—looked at the sun, Jael queried, “What does he look like and where does he live?” Skip looked at the sky, apparently having not heard him. "We've got pleanty of time—“, “Easy for you to say,” Jael mumbled in an undertone, wondering how long before he’d switch again, ”—I've altered the child's memories; he won't even realise it when he comes to, since that'll be when his recognition of events resumes. However, that'll serve us well only if the Rai'alssa don't try lifting the memory suppresion, for I doubt my waning strength would match theirs." At this, the faery sighed heavily, once again reminded of his mortality.

He’s getting too old for this, Jael thought worriedly. Since mass assignation wouldn’t serve their purposes any—not in this situation—Kaedo was the one who had to do all of the work, messing around in people’s heads and giving the two assassins disguises.

"Well, then, it seems that we'll be entering the mages' keep, doubtlessly filled to the brim with top-notch telepaths and fire-mages galore. Wonderful,” he said, his voice sounding very hollow. Not for the first time, Jael cursed the fact that poisons couldn’t be used to remove select memories; it was either all or nothing.

”I'm leaving Kian Daughertn to you, Jael. Let's try and find somewhere to rest first, though. I'm tired." His friend sounded… ashamed of the fact. However, Jael didn’t try to comfort him. For one thing, he had never been good at comforting people, and for another, Kaedo’s pride most likely wouldn’t let him undergo such a talk.

Jael stood up from his crouch and eyed the faery. “I fail to see why all this is necessary. After all,” he said, fixing his piercing gaze on the short illusion, “you can just show me who to kill, and I’ll do it. Then we’ll go somewhere else.” His friend looked like he was about to speak, but Jael continued. “It might be best if we did it that way. I have my magic and, because of you, I can shield my thoughts.” Even though his words simply suggested the idea, his tone of voice brooked no argument.

As Selan busied herself gathering twigs and dead-wood from around the area to start a fire, Tarn brought his bow into his hand, and with the other one, gently took hold of Hylas'. "Keep a grip of me, or shift, but stay close, we wouldn't to lose you in the woods at night, now ?" Despite the kind words, Tarn didn't show a smile, and straight away turned his face, gazing at the darkness, nocking an arrow as he made sure Hylas hooked his small arm around him, and then went into the brush.

It was very dark, and with the grace and experience of years of living alone, Tarn knew just how to remain silent, just how to perform each step so as to not disturb the floor, and in doing so, the animals around him. Hylas had shifted, but Tarn hadn't bothered to look at what form it may be. All he felt was the boy's slight weight on his shoulder, as the hunter crouched and moved on, back bent as he almost sniffed the ground, like a dog catching a scent. The shifter moved its head hither-to every once in a while, a small movement that Eras could just feel in his bare, cold back. Truth be told, there was no way he could catch anything in this setting. It was far too dark, Abileith just couldn't see anything ! He was relying on Hylas to attack whichever animal he sensed, and bring it back.

Voicing this quietly to the boy, Tarn continued stalking, head always gazing from left to right, for anything, be it a sound, a sight, the gleam of an eye in the faint moonlight. Anything. At once, the Shifter sprang off his shoulder, shifting in mid-air to a bigger animal, though it was too dark for the hunter to distinguish was exactly. He heard its small feet hit the ground, scattering a few leaves as it rushed towards something, it too starting to run away. A shriek, a rabbit's wail, and a few instants after, he heard the little creature being dragged back by Hylas.

It went on like that, as they both prowled the night for many minutes, senses as sharp as the edge of a knife, as each stood ready to pounce on the nearest animal to make it their meal. Aside from the rabbit, Tarn had seen a large buzzard perched on the naked branch of a tree, silhouetted against the milk-stained sky. In the blink of an eye, the hunter had pulled his bow back, sending the arrow flying into the bird's breast with a word of pardon as it collided with its target just as this one tried to fly away.

Gathering the fallen bird, they'd both backtracked towards the camp, as there was enough meat here for the two of them, and if Selan did not wish to eat, Tarn could do nothing about it, even if it did concern him. Still, he'd managed to find some bright red berries, and from the leaves, he judged that this species was not poisonous. Picking a handful, he hoped Selan would at least eat these.

Far off, they both, Hylas back in his human form, saw the faint glimmer of a fire. "She's done good work ..." muttered the hunter as after a few more paces, they came into the very small clearing, trying to be silent enough as to not startle her. "Selan ..." he called, voice not quite a whisper, but still seemingly afraid of breaking the silence that hung so tightly to this night, already partly broken by the spitting fire that lit their forms and projected their shadows on the ground and against the spines, branches and leaves of the bushes around them.

"We've got a rabbit, a buzzard, and some berries for you. Good job on the fire."

((Faedra))

“I appreciate your family’s hospitality,” Aerain said, nodding her head with a slight smile. “Though I feel I’ve caused not a little contention among yourselves. Honestly, I do not wish to inspire such conflict, but my offer still stands – as it always will.”

“No,” Faedra replied. “I thank you, but no; I trust Altair’s judgement in this matter. However,” she added with a small peal of laughter, “I’d not worry myself with the strife among the family. In one as large as ours, there are often many conflicting views; we were being rather tame for our guest!” Biting her lip in slight consternation, the maiden mused, “Altair would have my head for that. He’s second to his brother among our generation in his desire to maintain a spotless reputation. But that’s not important; come, let’s find you appropriate lodgings.”

Pivoting on her heel, the elf motioned for their visitor to follow, keeping up all the while her steady stream of idle chatter. “We used to have more guests here,” she sighed, exiting the first courtyard to enter the rose garden; raised voices could be heard nearby, assumedly that of her sister and cousin. She tactfully opted to steer clear of them, entering the marble construct of their home from the west-side passage. “However, times have changed somewhat, and people aren’t as keen on travelling abroad. It really is a pity,” she lamented. “We’re a large family, like many of the older Elvish families. Most of the inhabitants of our abode are of the newer generation, save for Aunt Eithne, and Evander and Nieander.” The pair had entered an open sort of inner courtyard, where the white marble had been shaped to slowly meld with a deeper, redder earth, forming intricate natural swirls in the columns supporting the high ceiling, adorned with purple-leafed vines and clinging white roses. The overall appearance was rather fair and modern, bringing the outdoors inside. Many gilt mirrors were positioned to catch and reflect light to substitute to place of smoky torches, although there was a multitude of the latter placed in alcoves, unlit, for the evenings. Here and there, a small statue formed out of the rock would peer out of the foliage, gemstones forming eyes and silver interspersed with gold adding highlights. The effect was one of pleasantly subdued pomp and riches, at least to Faedra, who’d grown up amidst the luxuries provided.

Navigating the arbores and low seats around their sitting-pools, she led Aerain to a flight of stairs; the balustrade turned at its zenith into a low wall overlooking the vast single room downstairs. “This should be a good fit, I think,” she chirped, traversing the stairs and briskly making her way to an apartment near at the end of the passage. “If you’d rather something else,” she added, turning the knob and stepping by to let Aerain in, “we’ve a few more larger rooms, and a couple of smaller ones. Or I could get Nieander to help me change the furniture around some, if that’ll be any problem.”

[ShadowWake]

((Selan))

Selan heard Tarn talking to little Hylas, as they walked away. Being alone didn't really please her, it made her think too much about the old days where she had been completely alone for so much time. She had to take a look at her hair, every now and then, to make sure she wasn't back at that time. Once she thought she had enough wood to last the whole night, she tried to light a fire as she had learned back then, without using magic. She could have used it now, but she thought it was better to avoid using it, when it wasn't strictly necessary.

Soon, a small flame was crackling, only to become bigger, and she smiled to what she had done, since it would be useful. She sat down next to it, to try warm herself up a bit. The air was cold, and being night, it surely would get colder in no time. She heard something moving behind some bushes.

Selan ... It was Tarn, who spoke. He came with Hylas, of course, moving slowly and silently. We've got a rabbit, a buzzard, and some berries for you. Good job on the fire.

She smiled from the bottom of her heart, at hearing that. "Welcome back, guys..." she whispered. "Berries? Thank you so much! I will eat some, of course. And about the fire, thank you, I had enough time to do a nice fire. It should last all night..."

She then picked a small twig, and began to draw a small map of the zone they were in. "Look. I've been thinking about it, and, without a doubt, if the temple was to be somewhere near, it would be around here." she signaled a place in the ground-map. I will understeand if you have other things to do, but I will be going anyways. I need to go, so I can forgive myself, and do something about this sword..." she stopped. She didn't want to put pressure on them as to follow her or not, but she really wanted them to be with her, she felt so better, since they had been travelling toghether.

((Hylas))

Triumphantly carrying the soft-haired rabbit in his wolverine jaws, Hylas trotted along happily beside the burly hunter, the large bird of prey gripped by the legs in a single strong hand as he loosely held his bow in the other. Though weighed down by the small mammal, the young boy felt an enormous sense of pride in his achievements. Yes, he had caught plenty of prey on his own before – indeed he wouldn’t have survived without them – but here he was not just a hunter… he was a provider. Here he was catching food for his family and that alone was worth more than the simple meal itself.

Firelight flickered orange through the dark foliage and dropping the rabbit to the ground, Hylas shifted into his human form once more, picking up the limp carcass easily in his small grip. After glancing to check he was carrying it in the same manner as Tarn, the young boy grinned, swinging his prize easily at his side as the finally wandered into the camp, the warm blaze illuminating Selan’s gentle features.

”Selan,” Tarn called softly, not wanting to disturb the peace, “We've got a rabbit, a buzzard, and some berries for you. Good job on the fire.”

The woman smiled, the motion causing her white teeth to flash disarmingly in the flickering glow. "Welcome back, guys... Berries? Thank you so much! I will eat some, of course. And about the fire, thank you, I had enough time to do a nice fire. It should last all night..."

Slipping happily over, Hylas sank down beside Selan, casting the rabbit a little way away so that she couldn’t see the blood-stained fur. His Nana hadn’t liked eating animals and so he naturally didn’t want to make his new family-member uncomfortable either.

"Look,” Selan said gently, her slim fingers wrapping around a short twig as she used it to sketch in the dirt. The young shifter peered at the markings, twisting his head this way and that as he sought to make out the drawing. ”I've been thinking about it, and, without a doubt, if the temple was to be somewhere near, it would be around here. I will understand if you have other things to do, but I will be going anyways. I need to go, so I can forgive myself, and do something about this sword..."

Hylas frowned at the make-shift map, crawling onto his hands and knees to poke a finger at a section of the dirt near where she had pointed. “When we went this way,” he said slowly, settling back onto his haunches, his brow still crinkled slightly as he met the woman’s bright gaze, “I smelt something… funny. I smelt it earlier as well – when I was with you, Selan, when we were walking. It’s hard to describe… um…”

Narrowing his eyes, the young boy pondered, scratching his dark hair absently. “It’s like… do you have Hallow Day?” The two humans looked confused so Hylas chewed on his lip. “Around mid-winter we have a day where everyone builds a big pyre to scare away the evil spirits and the mages in the village throw fire into the sky that looks like falling stars, to show our appre… appre… to show our ancestors we still love them. And when we went into the forest over there, it smelt like that. Not as strong but still a bit like it.”

Turning to face Selan, the shifter smiled. “I can go scout tomorrow if you like? I won’t be seen or sensed if I stay in my animal form. You and Tarn can follow from a safe distance: then you can see where I am but you won’t be seen if anything is there. And if there’s any danger, I can just run back and warn you. It’ll be like a proper team!”

-----------------------
((Phoenix))

"You ought to warn me beforehand, love,” Argenti returned dryly as he took her arm in his cold yet gentle hands, ”Anyone else on the team, and you'd have been perfect... just your luck to have the one healer who can't heal wounds? Ah, well."

Unable to halt the lift of her mood, Phoenix grinned in return, watching curiously as the faery rubbed at her skin with a clod of frozen water, the snow stinging harshly as it partly melted. “And it’s just your luck to have the one human soldier holding two brands of magic within herself that she can’t use and unable to even lift her own sword. A great pair we make…”

The honey, she had to admit, was a strange sensation. Yes, she had used it before on wounds in the forest – mostly those gained in actually getting the sweet nectar itself – but it still seemed a long time since she had needed such treatment for her injuries. Deftly, Argenti wound a small strip of cloth around her palm and then proceeded to wrap the larger length around his forearm. Seeing him struggle with one hand, Phoenix took the ends of the material and knotted them firmly, gracing his lips briefly with her own.

“That’ll do, love,” she answered with a smile, “A healer doesn’t necessarily mean using magic, though I have to say, it is useful.” Sighing, she met his silvery gaze with her own, sobering. “I guess that means we’d better go then…” she murmured softly. In return, the faery drew her close, wrapping his strong arms around her small frame.

”Be strong,” Argenti answered, equally as softly, and though his words held as much concern as her – if not more – his were far warmer. "Remember, we've no way out now but through the shadows. Resist them, my love, and look only to me - ignore their clamoring cries with all of your will."

If my will is strong enough… Phoenix thought briefly before the horrible chill of shadow magic crept down the back of her spine and her sight was tinted charcoal once more. Immediately, the shadows virtually roared, their joy at sensing her so close to them profound and she once more fought not to press her palms against her ears. Instead she lifted her green eyes, settling them securely upon the man still holding her tight in his embrace – his almost glowing figure like a beacon. Foolishly, she wondered nervously about whether the scouts would see them, before tossing the idea aside to simmer with the shadows. Let them concern themselves with safety: they knew his survival was crucial for her own; they would see no harm done.

Tightening her grip around the faery’s waist, Phoenix set her jaw. Nor would she. It had come to her thoughts over the last few days or so – slowly, like their growing love had been – that if it came to it, she would remove the source of the problem altogether. It was undesirable, certainly, but it may – at some point – become necessary, and then she could not afford to waver. No, she would be strong – like her love had asked – and she would see it done.

But not now. Now, she had the myriad of voice to contend with and they – in themselves – were quite enough for her still fragile body, though her mind was sharper for it. Hushing them once – to no avail – she concentrated on the bright silhouette of her companion, gritting her teeth through the slight throb of a headache as she fought what almost seemed to be natural. “Come on then,” Phoenix muttered, uncertain as to whom she was speaking to - her voice sounding hollow even to her own ears – “Let’s get this over and done with. The scouts were due east so it may be best to veer away from them for a while. If…” the redhead paused, not wanting to voice the main concern that had been swirling in the depths of her mind since seeing the unwelcome obstacle. “If the worst has happened,” she said softly, searching Argenti’s smoky gaze with her own, “It may not be best to head directly toward Occalus either… just in case… well, just in case. It’s better to be safe than sorry. Nstif’ikta is… persistant… determined… she would not believe that there is only one way to get m-- what she wants. I don’t know about the Rau-lass – or the faeries that well, for that matter – but the humans especially are not adverse to torturing their prisoners of war for information… and if the others didn’t…”

Resting her injured palm gently against his chest with a heavy sigh, Phoenix lowered her gaze. “Let’s just be careful, okay?”

[ShadowWake]

((Anahita))

Gritting her teeth in frustration, the young woman laid up her sword. She could fight, she really could, for a maker of blades had to know their execution-- yet the act of self-defense and inflicting harm, that eluded her. That Signum could do this without once raising his voice or express emotion astounded her, she who despaired of her own self. Clearly could she envision the browbeating her own sister would doubtlessy have delivered for so dismal a performance, and that perhaps Foertis was on the verge of giving himself.

And why not? Why ever not? Sorea did this, she performed these moves flawlessly, she could even run through her best friend, but Anahita, little Anahita, the calm one, the sweet one, she hardly cared so much for Signum, yet was unable to suppress the surge of bile that rose to her throat when he'd acted as a willing foe. The image was burned in her mind, over and over again. Blood on fleh, his absolutely horrible look of pain with her own sword sticking straight out of him, the keen blade she'd forged and magicked sullied with gore. Not even the ease with which he'd healed himself assuaged her disgust and terror.

As for the improptu fire-man created by Foertis as a substitute? She could hardly approach the fiery creature. Truly she was a failure, a complete little disappointment-- Sorea would inform her of as much, were she yet alive. As much as she missed her sister, so too did Anahita feel a twinge of guilt at not giving so much more thought to her, or to being enveloped in the seemingly endless grief that ravaged Signum.

That selfsame man stepped back now, about to confer with Foertis; good heavens, please don't let him make a target of himself again! However, before the Easterner could go to his side, Samir entered the room, his glasses slightly skewed and his expression somewhat heckled. “Altus Vulnus, um, when you’re done, and if you don’t have anything else to do, may I talk to you?” He asked in one breath with his eloquently fluid grasp of Fae, glancing at the trio.

Signum ran a hand through his hair, today forced into a short braid by the ever-vigilant Foertis, that stopped his fingers short. "Yes, of course," he replied, separating himself from the pair. "By all means-- I should think that between the two of us, my pupil's beome wearied anyhow. Anahita?"

"Yes, sir?" She asked, noting the slight reaction recieved by the formality of the adress. "Would you mind," he murmured, "looking to the children with Foertis? I rather suspect that they've been left to their own devices long enough." Foertis muttered something under his breath, which could have been , "sure we can, but you're the one who brought them here," but which might not have been. In any case, she was under the charge of the blond, and Signum was off to conffer with Samir-- again. There was perhaps the shadow of jealousy in those azure eyes as he traced the receding steps of the two northern men, glowing like coals as he pivoted gaily about and, with a sharp laugh, said, "you and me alone-- again. Come."

((Aerain))

“I’d not worry myself with the strife among the family,” Faedra continued after politely declining the faery’s offer once more and leading the way through the courtyards, “In one as large as ours, there are often many conflicting views; we were being rather tame for our guest!” She paused, a slight flicker of worry crossing her delicate elven features, and Aerain couldn’t help but glance at her curiously, a small smile alighting upon her lips. Strangely, she had become gradually more relaxed around the bustling family and, on several occasions, almost had to remind herself that her visit was far from a pleasure jaunt.

“Altair would have my head for that,” the young woman continued, ”He’s second to his brother among our generation in his desire to maintain a spotless reputation. But that’s not important; come, let’s find you appropriate lodgings.”

Moving through the outdoor section of the Ælfer household, Aerain had the opportunity to appreciate some of the finer elven architecture – most of which, she had to admit, was far more luxurious than her own home had been – though much of it was too gilded for her own taste. However as Faedra spoke more about her family, she led the way into one of the enclosed buildings and the real beauty of the Ælfers’ home was revealed.

“My family was small,” Aerain admitted, trying not to openly stare as the elven maiden strode with graceful, assured steps through the inner courtyard and up a grand stairwell, “My father believed that it was his duty to ensure our family’s reputation was upheld, whereas my mother was much more concerned about the family members themselves, though there was only myself to look after. It was my father’s wish that I join the military – once he discovered the extent of my magic, anyway – and though my mother disagreed, in the end, it was he who won the argument.”

Pausing, the faery’s face flickered briefly, her own concerns showing through for a brief instant in the slight furrow of her brow. Features smoothing out once more, Aerain’s voice was nonetheless subdued when she spoke again. “It was quite a lonely time for my mother, I think: my father trained me while my mother maintained the house. I didn’t think about it so much then but I guess she would’ve loved the chaos of a large family.”

She smiled slightly and Faedra returned the gesture, leading the way down to the end of a long corridor and resting her tapered fingers upon the handle of a polished wooden door. “This should be a good fit, I think,” the elven maid said lightly, clearly happy with the task of serving as host, “If you’d rather something else, we’ve a few more larger rooms, and a couple of smaller ones. Or I could get Nieander to help me change the furniture around some, if that’ll be any problem.”

At that, Aerain could only shake her head. The room was huge – at least to the faery who felt she had not seen such a sizable chamber since her experience of Occalus’ Great Hall for the first time – with the typical marble-esque walls and hidden alcoves draped in trailing vines. There, in the far corner, stood a statue made to look as though he had merely stepped from the wall itself, noble features up-tilted and proud as his bejeweled hand rested gently upon the pommel of a sword that reached almost to his hip and his sapphire gaze stared coldly into middle-distance. Instinctively, Aerain’s hand went for her own blade, alighting instead upon an empty scabbard.

“No,” she answered softly, unable to hide her awe, “No, this’ll be just fine, thank you.”

Booted feet seeming loud upon the pale floor, Aerain disguised her awkwardness by inspecting the apartment, running a pale hand along the plant-strewn stone as she traversed each room in turn. Off to the left was a washroom, complete with a basin and a sunken bath fit for a king, all carved from the russet-whorled marble itself and filled with what looked like hundreds of tiny recesses in which torches lay dull, waiting for the night. A bedchamber containing a vast, dark-wooded armoire and large four-poster bedecked with luxurious emerald-tinted drapes veered off in a southerly direction through an adjoining door, opening out onto a simple balcony that overlooked one of the main courtyards. It was almost too much to take in.

The evergreens hissed gently in the chill wind, ruffling Aerain’s worn feathers briefly as she paused to take in the forest’s rugged beauty in stunned silence. For some reason that she couldn’t explain, she wanted to leap from the stone gallery into the cold winter air and just fly… anywhere. Maybe things had become too complicated – too… well, difficult – recently, that she simply wanted to find something straightforward and unadorned to cling onto…?

And maybe you’re just missing home…? came a little voice from the darkness and Aerain leant forwards to clutch at the cool, pale stone with knotted hands, her wings automatically curling around her still form as her shoulders tensed. Maybe that’s what it is, Aerain: maybe there’s nothing more to do now than just go home? Maybe you’ve done all that you can…?

Forcefully easing her hold, the faery shook her head, her dark curled locks tracing the tribal marks across her shoulders as she stood, wings relaxing once more to lie flat.

“Thank you,” Aerain said once more and, turning, she fixed her caramel-coloured gaze upon the elf stood mutely behind her, no trace of her earlier discomfort apparent in either her stance or her carefully chiseled features. “You have been very kind. I cannot begin to think what I can give to repay your generosity.”

((Morteza))

Silence, a pretty little thread of golden repose stretch between the pair, lasted with the clarity and pure filigree of diamond, a peaceful thing, an idyllic repose—shattered! Not even a second’s breath expired before the black queen’s talons shot out, bearing down on the faery’s throat with the force of bated fury, fury driven to a tempest, fury akin to his own fury of moments past. Call me prisoner, bring me loathing, but prisoner am I, who drives you so? He would listen, he would obey, but see now, see yet, a prisoner to her in will he was not! Master yourself, master your fury, let her see it, but tempt her not.

Her clawed hand curled around his neck, curled easily for that flesh, withered by its tenure in the dank, stone-trapped walls of her personal hell-hole, had lost the muscular splendour which would have arrested that pale hand. Pale and beautiful, a work of art. Pale and beautiful, drawing his blood! For what else could be that trickle, that little spring of liquid descending his neck but his own sweet, sanguine life-blood? No rage, do not rage, remember yourself and your dead control... find peace in insanity, find the calm in the storm, but let it NOT BREAK LOSE lest you tempt her further! Ah, vado putesco, and in hell may she rot, that foul little she-demon who’d robbed him of his commanding composure, her and those mad, mad, mad little clinkers in their musty little cell.

All at once her cruel claws had found their way to his wings! And grabbed their chafed, clinker-sore joints! And the sheer SHAME of it, the memories and the sensitivity, she who must always bring him pain, though he took her powers from her, yet she brought him pain, always, always, this unending charade of the flesh’s woes, what was wrong with the damned woman?! Gods, that she must hold him like a petulant child refusing to heed an inferior teacher, that she should dare touching him as that thrice-accursed swordsman had! Had the creature no mind, no thoughts?! Ah, but of course, she couldn’t see the memory, not at all, find the calm in the storm....

“Continue on this vein, faery,” she hissed softly, her malignant voice laced with a fiery eroticism, “And you will have neither chains nor wings to abide.” In one fell motion, too fast for puny human eyes to follow she’d slammed the faey’s face into the stoney walls, had crushed his bone against something much harder, seeking mastery of her own ill-contained emotions through violence upon he. Well, he could sympathize. There was a sound, a clink, and suddenly. The strangest, most long-awaited thing happened, whose arrival he greeted with such joy and happiness that the choler in his heart was long forgotten, the black beaches washed by the waves of freedom.
Morteza slid to the ground, fanning his wings slowly, cautiously. Like a butterfly just freed of the chrysalis, or a bird drying its feathers after rain without shelter, so he carefully stretched out those most delicate and abused members of his anatomy, revelling and awing at the complete, total lack of pain, of reprimand that didn’t follow. Was this it,was he truly given so freely the use of his wings? Assuredly not, for those narrowed crimson eyes, still seething in the mere of their anger, could bear no such mercy, assuredly not.

Rising to his feet, Melchios met her gaze, then lowered his, sinking to his knees in homage to she whom he hated more than any other creation, save for them. “My liege,” he murmured, raising his gaze to a point just below hers, “truly now my liege, and for what life I have yet, it could only be thus.”

[ShadowWake]

Crouching down beside both Selan and Hylas, Tarn too observed the map that had hastily been drawn onto the surface of the ground, illuminated by the blazing fire the woman had prepared. He noted their position, and then that of the temple. it wouldn't take very long, a day at most, he reckoned, to reach it, if they kept a good pace, but still, the direction was unsure. However, Hylas soon answered that problem. If the temple could be smelled, then that would make their lives that much easier, thanks to Hylas. "I'm coming, of course. Don't think we'd readily leave you for no reason, Selan, I see no reason to it." Besides, there was Hylas now, and Tarn was sure Selan felt the same sense of duty towards the Shifter boy.

Casting a look at the catches, the hunter got up once more, gathering them as he paced around the fire. "In any case; he started, raising his voice only a bit, still too timid to upset the silence; we need to get some sleep. I'll prepare the food, no luxuries I'm afraid. When that's done, we can have some rest." Tarn quickly spotted a pile of sticks Selan had kept, some of them ideal for making a roasting spit. She thinks of everything ... he thought, as he gathered three of them. Ramming two of them into the soil, the hunter managed to balance the third one atop them.

Pulling a knife out, he started carving the rabbit, cutting precise nicks in the skin, before peeling the whole of it off in one smooth motion. Scraping the fat off it and onto the meat, he cut out the small bits of meat, skewering them onto the spit which he'd sharpened just beforehand. As the small amount of rabbit meat was left to roast, he went about quickly plucking the buzzard, still holding the knife in one hand as with that same one he gripped each feather, tugging at it with a practised motion before repeating the process.

Tarn didn't bother doing it for the whole of the animal, instead cutting out the breast once he deemed it good enough to do so. Doing the same on the other side, he then cut off the legs, and put all that meat onto the spit, to roast with the rabbit. "Hylas, can you keep an eye on it ? Don't let it get too cooked. I've got to get rid of this stuff, let Nature reclaim it, we can't leave it around here after all." And without even waiting for an answer, he grabbed the left-over rabbit and buzzard, and marched back out into the shadows.

After having taken a few long strides away from the campsite, he flung the two carcasses away, hearing them hit the ground a few feet away. Once again, he offered a silent thanks and a silent pardon for the way he had treated the animals, but they had little time, and each of them needed their rest. back-tracking, he soon found his way back to the fire, where Hylas stood at its side, slowly spinning the spit as he watched the flames lick the meat.

((Kaedo))

His companion arose, inky eyes glittering with some emotion that he, quite frankly, felt no urge to deduce and thus left unexamined. With the blunt wording all close friends somehow become possessed of, he stated, “I fail to see why all this is necessary. After all,” he said, fixing his depthless eyes on Kaedo, the very perception of which made him avert his eyes to glare resolutely at the horizon, “you can just show me who to kill, and I’ll do it. Then we’ll go somewhere else.”

The faery opened his mouth to interject, but Jael continued unfazed, “It might be best if we did it that way. I have my magic and, because of you, I can shield my thoughts.” The deceptive suggestion of his words was groundless, though, for his voice bore that uncommonly serious quality it oft would lack. "Jael," he began, then broke off. "Jael," he started again, "he'll wake up soon; scale the walls." Nardan houses had an intricate, interconnected system of alleys and aerial walkways, the construct of which was the individual houses. However, the buildings around them were unnoccupied, lest his telepathy failed him; resting atop the people's property would be quite fine.

He half-scaled, half-flew up the craggy wall, breathing more heavily than he'd have liked when he sat down again. Jael, he noted disdainfully, had beaten him on the way up again. It hadn't been so in centuries past, when he need but spread his death-black wings and fly, and in being airborne be beyond the clutching aspirations of any creature who deigned to follow. Even his one true friend.

"Think, now," Kaedo muttered darkly, slouching in the shade, scowling at the sun. "How easy would it be to cast ourselves back out, beyond the long arm of a race of bloody telepaths. It's impossible, were we to traipse into the very heartlands of Acerbus! Nowhere in Aduro could we lose them, and would you lead them to Cetairiacelos? Perish, rather." Sighing heavily, he added, "and I despise any and all travelling. So I'll show you who to kill, you kill them, and we stay here. Clear enough?" Not bothering to wait for a response, he slid onto his side, making a pillow of his arm and growled, "don't lose your cat, alright? I'm going to rest for a short while, and we'll be off again. Don't you dare do a single thing without me, Jael. Remember, don't you dare."

((Selan))

Selan was glad to see Hylas trying to avoid her seeing the rabbit. Usually, she wouldn't feel like this, but she had felt weak for some days now, and these kind of things, which had always been kind of disgusting to her, became unbearable. This meant that normally she would eat meat, of course, but she found herself unable to do it, at that moment.

She tried to avoid listening, and looked away, when Tarn started to 'get the animals ready' to be roasted. She felt a huge sadness, when thinking of the poor animals.

When we went this way, I smelt something… funny. I smelt it earlier as well – when I was with you, Selan, when we were walking. It’s hard to describe… um... Hylas spoke, lighting a flame of hope inside Selan's body, and although he was finding it hard to explain what he meant, it definitely meant he could probably find his way, which was what she most needed. Hylas then carried on with an explanation about the Hallow Day, a day where shifters show appreciation to their ancestors. Selan wondered if it had something to do. Maybe the temple had been shifter-built. She wasn't sure at all. Her sword was definitely human-made, but she didn't know about the magic that could change its powers. She had always assumed it would be an elven place, but now, all of a sudden, her old ideas began to crumble.

I can go scout tomorrow if you like? I won’t be seen or sensed if I stay in my animal form. You and Tarn can follow from a safe distance: then you can see where I am but you won’t be seen if anything is there. And if there’s any danger, I can just run back and warn you. It’ll be like a proper team! Selan stood, thinking about what Hylas had said. It certainly was a well-thought strategy, and it made sense. She, however, didn't want to put the boy's life in danger. "We'll do that if you promise you would be coming back to us, if you feel the smallest odd thing...ok?" She smiled at him. Not only did Hylas want to be 'useful', but he was, in those kind of situations, so, as he had put it, they would be like a team. She cared too much about him -as well as Tarn- to leave him alone and out there, exposed to the danger.

I'm coming, of course. Don't think we'd readily leave you for no reason, Selan, I see no reason to it. She was, of course, glad to hear Tarn would be coming as well. As he had put it, it was the obvious thing to do, although Selan was feeling sort of selfish, since they were actually going to where she was needing, instead of where they would have to go, even if Hylas would have headed the same direction, approximately. She wasn't sure as to where would have Tarn gone, but she was sure he was telling the truth, so she decided not to worry more about it.

The hunter asked Hylas to watch over the animals, while he went to leave the left-overs somewhere else. She wondered if he was doing it for her sake, or only because he thought it wasn't a good place. Soon, he was back, and he sat down near the fire, as the meat was getting cooked.

Meanwhile, Selan took some of the berries Tarn had brought and left them for her to eat later, and took some other berries, and with her fingers, she squashed them and let the few drops of 'juice' fall on the meat. She smiled weakly. "It will taste better...I know it's not much, but at least it should feel different from the meat we've been eating until now..."

[ShadowWake]

((Jael))

"Jael," Kaedo said, pausing. Trying again, he said, "Jael, he'll wake up soon; scale the walls." The elf briefly glanced at the still slumbering child, then easily leapt up onto the roof of one of the abandoned buildings that surrounded them. Crouching in the partial shade offered by a crumbling wall—presumably built to keep people from walking off the edge—he watched as Kaedo landed, panting much more than he used to. In fact, Jael couldn’t remember a time excluding the recent past when he had managed to scale something before Kaedo, unless the man had let him.

"Think, now," the faery said, glaring at the sun. Jael shared his sentiment—even though he had spent a good while down in the southern regions of the continent, that time would never change the fact that he had been born in a land which remained ice-bound long after most of the other races had started their spring planting. "How easy would it be to cast ourselves back out, beyond the long arm of a race of bloody telepaths.” Jael watched his friend, not saying anything. He hadn’t meant that they would escape the Rau-laus, simply that they would eradicate anyone with memories of them, then go somewhere else solely because a few mysterious deaths would raise a lot more question and suspicion of everyone.

”It's impossible, were we to traipse into the very heartlands of Acerbus! Nowhere in Aduro could we lose them, and would you lead them to Cetairiacelos? Perish, rather." Jael glanced away. He wanted to say that even if the two of them were to go to Cetairiacelos, they wouldn’t find anything of interest. However, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—tell anyone that, not even his best friend whom he trusted with everything he held dear.

The faery sighed, breaking Jael out of his reverie. “And I despise any and all travelling. So I'll show you who to kill, you kill them, and we stay here. Clear enough?" Jael shrugged. The faery slid onto his side, resting his head on his arm and stretching out in the scant shade. [i]"I'm going to rest for a short while, and we'll be off again. Don't you dare do a single thing without me, Jael. Remember, don't you dare."

"I’ll remember,” he said softly, glancing across the roof to where Sasquatch was curled up against a rock. After a time, his sensitive ears heard commotion in the street below, and he slid over to the structure’s edge and peered into the alleyway. The boy was rubbing his head, looking rather puzzled. However, the moment he looked up at the sun, he leapt to his feet and sprinted away.

Jael inhaled deeply and glanced at Kaedo, who was well into the depths of sleep. He glanced at the cat, then decisively picked it up. Making sure that Sasquatch was still a good distance away from the sleeping faery, he set it down. Tapping it gently on the nose, he stared into its eyes. “Stay here, alright? I’ll be back later, and if you’re not here, I’ll hunt you down.” Even though he had no evidence to state otherwise, Jael still believed that animals understood a great deal more than they let on to. At least, in his presence they seemed to. Flicking a dagger out of its sheath, he quickly scrawled two words (in Assassin's Code) into the somewhat dusty rooftop: information and market. With that, he soundlessly glided to the edge of the roof and leapt to that of an adjoining structure. In this manner, he made his way towards the center of the city. He had a slim hope that amidst all the gossip, he would hear something of interest; especially something that would help him find this 'Kian Daughertn'.

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

Near twilight, Jael returned to the rooftop where Kaedo lay. During his absence, he had changed his appearance a bit. He had come across a dye shop and rubbed some of the brownish liquid into his skin, changing the color to a light shade of brown instead of the ghostly white of a Northerner. His hair and eyes he had left as they were, for there wasn't much that he could do about them.

The faery was still sleeping, even after Jael somewhat noisily approached him. With a small sigh, he leaned back against the wall, watching the fading sun. Technically, he could go and kill the mage without Kaedo's help--it would probably take a couple hours at the very most, plenty of time for him to finish the job and be back before Kaedo awoke. The only problem would arise if he should run into a Rau-lass.

Jael glanced at the faery again, debating. On the other hand, Kaedo really did need his rest and he was getting a bit too old for that kind of thing—a fact that, while Jael hate to mention it, still held true. With a sigh, he stood up and grabbed his cloak. He flicked the hood back so that his face could be seen. Kicking at the dust and scattering his previous message, he gently removed the rusted nails from Kaedo’s purse. Reaching out with a thin tendril of magic, he reshaped it into the word for ‘kill’. Setting it next to Kaedo’s head, he glanced over to where the cat still lay sleeping. Creeping over to it, he picked it up and jumped into the street below. Releasing the cat, he uttered one word, “Go.”

Turning, he made his way towards the keep that the mages had taken over, alternately gliding across rooftops and through abandoned alleys. He took great care not to be seen, and arrived near the gates not long after full dark. There was still a reasonable amount of activity, for it was still winter and therefore, the sun didn’t set at a very late hour.

His eyes ran along the length of the wall, noting that there was a fair number of sentries on the walls, all of which were undoubtedly mages. D*mn, he thought, irked that the Rau-lass were making sure that their human subordinates were taking such great precautions to avoid detection.

There was a huge iron gate, with two guards standing right next to it. In front of them were another line of guards, about six deep. All along the battlements were archers and mages and—as the elf had overheard in the marketplace—there was a second wall beyond that, separated by a gap. The wall itself also had narrow window slots from which still more archers could shoot out of. Along the second set of ramparts were more mages and pikesmen. The towers that stood in the four corners of the fortress contained mages and boiling pitch. Inside, there were supposedly eight mages, two at each corner, along with human and atrox guardsmen. None of this really bothered Jael, though. It was the fact that somewhere there would be Rau-lass.

The moon began to rise, throwing the entire area in front of Jael into shadows. An idea sparked within his mind, and he meandered off in search of a few items. Shortly he returned with a heavy, sand colored blanket and a small tube. All he had to do was cover himself with the blanket and breathe from the tube. As long as he moved slowly, the poor lighting and blanket should help him.

With a soft sigh that was barely audible, he began to make his way across the great expanse. He made certain that he was out of range of the weak torches carried by the guardsmen, then inched his way forwards. The time it took to reach the wall seemed like forever—in very short order, sand had managed to work its way through his clothing, rubbing against his skin. As he inched towards the fortress, he felt wards flickering around him. However, they were all things that the elf had encountered before, so Jael was able to quickly take advantage of the various loopholes before they alerted the Rau-lass to his presence.

As soon as he hit the wall, he nearly breathed a sigh of relief. He stood against the wall, his cloak helping him blend with the shadows. Slowly, he reached into the pouch at his belt, withdrawing a small glass vial. Using a small amount of his magic, he forced it into a gaseous form and sent it in the direction of the archers in the wall. The poison would cause the people to experience hallucinations, and thus make it easier for Jael to slip by.

Turning around, Jael carefully sought for handholds in the stone, still staying in as much shadow as he possibly could. When his fingers encountered a small ledge, he partially pulled himself into the opening. A somewhat shocked human stared at him, and Jael simply stared back. The man’s eyes were flying around, staring at various points in the air. “Move,” Jael hissed in Common, and the man took a step back, pale as a ghost. Jael slithered through the window, scraping his shoulders. He mentally cursed his height; while it gave him somewhat of an advantage when it came to fighting and running, it was a serious hindrance to getting in and out of small places.

Jael glanced at the other men, most of which seemed not to see him. A few were rubbing their eyes, or shaking their heads furiously. The man he had asked to move stared at him owlishly, along with one or two of his fellows. They didn’t seem alarmed in the least, and Jael wasn’t about to ask what they thought he was. As long as the poison worked, he could care less.

He slid past a few people to another window-like apparatus—again, hidden in shadow. From this angle, he couldn’t see anyone on the second wall, and he doubted that they could see him. Leaning out ever so slightly, he looked down into the pit, noting that there were a lot of spikes at the bottom. Moving even slower than before, he again managed to squeeze through the slot in the wall, searching for some kind of foot hold.

He glanced down, noticing that there was another iron gate—though smaller than the first—behind which a drawbridge of sorts rested. Creeping along the wall, hoping that Fate would somehow let him find all the right footholds, he heard a noise above him. By this time, he had nearly reached the arch of the first gate.

He instantly froze, fearing the worst. But no, it was just a bored man talking to his companion in a low voice. Jael strained to listen, but failed to hear anything of interest. He slowly reached for another handhold, aware that the slightest noise might give away his presence. However, he managed to move beyond them without arousing their attention.

He had now come to the stony edge of the first tower. This was instantly a problem, for Jael found that there weren’t any more jagged edges of rock that he could cling to, nor were there chinks in the mortar. Jael cursed silently, then pulled out the stopper of another vial of the same drug he had used moments before. This time, though, he had to create more, a rather unpleasant task. In the back of his mind, a nagging voice kept telling him that using so much magic under the noses of the enemy wasn’t wise, that even though Kaedo was getting too old for this, it just might have been better to wait for him to wake up.

Jael silenced the voice, waiting as the poison spread and took hold. It was too late to go back now, no matter how many regrets he might have. After a few moments, Jael took out a thin cord attached to a grappling hook and tossed it behind him. His eyes flickering shut, he used his metal magic to guide it to the edge of the battlements opposite him. Tugging on the cord, he glanced down at the spikes below him. In a sudden movement, he pushed himself off the wall, grabbing the cord with his other hand. He hit the opposite wall and instantly began to pull himself up.

Slithering over, he glanced around very briefly. He realized that he might have accidently given the humans an overdose, because quite a number of them were slumped against the ramparts, a faraway look in their eyes. Swearing inwardly, he looked into the inner courtyard, which was illuminated by a number of torches. His eyes quickly scanned those inside, noting that there were two Rau-lass at the far end of the courtyard, with a lot of atrox and humans in between him and them. That, however, meant nothing. Unlike any fair form of fighting, magic—especially telepathy—worked just fine, and often better, if you were a good distance away.

Chewing his lip, he looked carefully at the mages posted at the corners, looking for someone that matched the description he had received earlier in the day. Blond… female… redhead… blue robes… he mentally thought, as his eyes roved over the respective mages. Finally, he saw the one he was after. The one with brown hair and purple robes… the one that Karl had reported to.

His eyes falling half shut, he created a new poison around the mage. Within moments, the human was nearly bent over, gasping for breath. His companion was worriedly saying something to him, looking at the Rau-lass undoubtedly wondering if he should report it. He was saved, however, from making that decision, for in the next moment, Kian collapsed, dead as can be.

One of the Rau-lass frowned at the deceased human, then turned its eyes towards the wall, scanning the battlements. Jael realized that they knew he was there, and that they had known all along. Sh*t, he thought, uncorking the last full vial in his pouch. Just as he released it in a gaseous form, something crashed against his mind, forcing him into unconsciousness.

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

((Samir))

“Well… remember how you told me to figure out where you guys will meander about, take kids from, find information, and that kind of stuff?” Samir asked. By this time, they were well out of the earshot of the other two faeries, so Samir continued in a less relaxed and less hesitant tone. “Your records are horrendous, to say the best, not to mention the fact that they don't appear to have been made on a regular basis. Ten year olds can do better than that.” Without waiting for a response, the elf glided up the stairs to the study, taking the steps three at a time.

Opening the door and walking to the desk, he said—in his normal tones—“So, I didn’t really have all that much to go on. Combined with the fact that I don’t really know the area, I gave up on that particular assignment. But I do have a question for you that I thought of while I was reading your records: what are you going to do with all these kids? Before too long, this place will be filled to a bursting point. Well... probably. At any rate… they can’t stay here forever. And um… I was thinking…” he looked up at the faery, then down to the map again, his finger idly tracing the coast.

“I have an idea, but you’ll probably shoot it down immediately, but at least I can say that I tried…” he mumbled. Suddenly, he tapped his finger over a small spot near the coast, well beyond the southernmost Elvish borders. Taking a deep breath, he said, “You could send the kids to Cetairiacelos. The Avelate wouldn’t deny them shelter, and I’m sure that he wouldn’t try putting them in any of the Academies without your consent, which obviously wouldn’t be given. Not to mention the fact that Academy life has been severely upset by recent events…”

“If you sent them by boat, they’d go to one of these ports here," he said, tapping the map again. "The Devkto’a occasionally trade there, and if you either send me with them or have me write a letter begging them to help you, they’d take the kids to Feiaceo. And since it’d be summer, the sea won’t be a chunk of ice…” the elf trailed off, ruby eyes looking at the faery over the rim of his glasses. This meant that he couldn’t see the other man’s face, which might not be such a bad thing.

[ShadowWake]

((Lysander))

Caelen chattered idly with remarkable ease to their companion woman, finishing with a completely false yarn about the reason the father/son pair was on the move. He himself leaned casually to the side, keeping a fixed gaze on the child from the corner of his slanted eyes. Two days, two days. The Lady, he hoped Signum and Foertis would be fine without him, without the wards his spells wove when he remained there. And damn, why couldn’t he be rid of the strange, crawling sensation every look at the opposing couple gave him? Come now, we can’t be letting such paranoia obscure our thoughts, can we? It’s simple, childish, a thing fit only for the diminutive likes of Foe—

“Daddy!” Caelen announced loudly, “I gots to go pee.” Disgusting, the elf thought, turning to the boy—and very nearly stopping short. The elf’s eyes were enormous, his expression desperate. Something was going on, something very, very far from the call of nature.

“Hey!” He shouted, leaning out of the coach window to wave that the driver halt the horses. “Wot’s the problem?” The seedy fellow asked peevishly. “Sorry to stop ye and all tha’,” Lysander cheerily replied, “but me lad Cadoc’s got to go out for a moment to relieve himself.”

“Ah, go on, then,” the loathsome leech said with a gap-toothed grin. Whirling around, the hunter scooped up his boy, tunic whipping about his form in lieu of robes. Smiling sheepishly at the woman, he shoved his way out, tossing his hair back in the open air and glancing about for a covered area, as would befit relieving oneself. A small collection of gorse bushes beckoned. Grabbing Caelen’s hand, he very nearly dragged the younger after him, bending down when they were well-covered. “What is it, Caelen?” He hissed, unrefined burr gone, every inch tensed for magic.

Elves have sensitive hearing; even with his locks swept over the tapered ends, Lysander heard the muffled voices coming from the direction of the coach, though the words were indistinct and the tone, for all purposes, genial. That didn’t bother him, not at all; what did was the sound of buckled boots hitting the ground, and of grass swishing around ankles, trying thought the mover might to stifle the sound.

Why would they wan silence in approaching them? “Caelen,” the elf hissed, “I’ve hardened the air around you—run, and for our sake, be sure to act as though you’re only chasing a field-mouse or something, but run.” If he was being paranoid, if he was imagining things, then he could just blame it on childish impatience in today’s youths. But if there was more to it…

Breathing deeply, he steadied himself behind the bushes. There were many things he knew, far more than the common crowd. After 316 years, Lysander Ælfher knew enough of himself to say that this panicky, inferior breed of fear, where he was the small prey, didn’t come easily. Not at all.

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

((Signum))

“I have an idea, but you’ll probably shoot it down immediately, but at least I can say that I tried…” Samir mumbled. An immediate spark of interest kindled itself within the faery. “I would never be so very stupid as to ignore any thoughts of yours, Lilith,” he murmured. In one sudden motion, she picked out a mark on the map sprawling on his desk, taking a deep breath before speaking, as though to prepare for something momentous.

“You could send the kids to Cetairiacelos. The Avelate wouldn’t deny them shelter, and I’m sure that he wouldn’t try putting them in any of the Academies without your consent … If you sent them by boat, they’d go to one of these ports here," she said, pointing out a different location. "The Devkto’a occasionally trade there, and if you either send me with them or have me write a letter begging them to help you, they’d take the kids to Feiaceo. And since it’d be summer, the sea won’t be a chunk of ice…”

They would be safe. That thought, before all else, came to his mind. Then, more than safe, the Rau-lass would never be able to find them, not even if they were to raze all of Aduro to the ground. It was as though the sun had broken through the clouds, like rain fell even as the bright rays lit the glittering drops, or a titanic weight had been reduced to a feather. The children would be safe, they’d be able to move about far more freely than ever they could underground, and Lilith could do it, all of it.

“If you do that,” he said softly, “if you could do that—Lilith, you thought I’d shoot you down!” He laughed a laugh which took him by as much surprise as her proposal. “Of course I’ll let you take them to Cetairiacelos! Bloody hell, I’d be a fool to say otherwise—you thought I’d refuse?” Smiling widely, he laughed again, feeling as though for once, the clouds were held at bay. “You never were one to trust people,” he sighed, sobering. “Yes, yes, of course I’ll let them go North. The Raí’alssa haven’t mobilized to such a degree that they’ve jeopardized travel on the western seas. You’ll have to tell me more—a whole lot more—before we see this through, though.”

“Who exactly are the Devkto’a, and what’s their culture like? From the motley arrangement of your memories I have, I know that their language is decidedly uncouth, that they’re far enough north to prefer animal furs in thick layers to woollen cloth, and that their ships can withstand coastal travels for long distances, perhaps even a little further to sea than that. But beyond that, I’m clueless.” Wryly, he commented, “it’d be a fine thing to entrust my charges to a group of savages, though I trust you’ve better consideration than to do that.”

“Also, I’m aware that your Avelate can’t be discussed freely, but I would prefer to have a rough idea of what the children will be facing, once the voyage has begun. I imagine it’ll take some months for them to travel that entire distance, and we need to properly provision them for that. As for the undertaking, its scale is large enough that we’ll have to send out groups of children. At thirty-five they’re a small group, but large enough that I seriously doubt sending the whole mass at once would escape detection. For only five of us, though, that’s quite a risk. We could,” Signum mused, “have Anahita and Foertis each take a separate group of seven—well, perhaps not alone, actually. Anahita should stay with Foertis. A group of nine, then. Lysander’s mare, I’m sure you’ve seen her, could be used as a pack-beast, loathe though he’d be to allow it. They could head to the coast,” he added, tracing out a short route along the forest, “and in the meantime, you, Lysander and I could put our efforts into slowly getting the rest closer to the Devkto’an ports. That way, when the first group has been received, the distance for the rest to travel will have greatly decreased.”

Running a hand through his hair, he muttered, “it could work. But I doubt Lysander’s prowess; to keep us undetected would be a strain on him, I think.” Glancing cautiously at Samir, he said carefully, “Lilith, I know you don’t like him very much. At all. But consider his resources, which are far vaster than any Foertis or I possess, now that the faery government has been literally beheaded. His family is enormous, and I’m sure,” Signum murmured, gazing at Ædónï where it sprawled in ink. “that once we reveal our enterprise, there will be a few willing to offer us aid. He can communicate quickly with them, though they know nothing of his whereabouts. If even a few Ælfhers will lend us their help, this will be so much the easier.”

((Caelen))

Much to Caelen's relief, the woman offered no resistance as Daddy ripped him out of her arms. It took all of Caelen's self-control not to twist free from Daddy's grip and sprint off as they exited the coach. Daddy half-dragged, half-guided Caelen to a clump of bushes. Once they were behind them, he queried, “What is it, Caelen?”

With a gulp, Caelen whispered in rapid Elvish, "The lady won't let me go and I have a headache. At home, my teacher teach-taught," he corrected himself, "us how to protect our thoughts and showed us what it felt like if someone tries to read them. It feels like that, Daddy," he said, huge eyes begging Daddy to believe him.

Caelen nearly jumped as he heard someone begin to approach, then Daddy hissed, “Caelen, I’ve hardened the air around you—run, and for our sake, be sure to act as though you’re only chasing a field-mouse or something, but run.”

The child took a deep breath, then let it out with a nod. For a brief second, he struggled to imagine a mouse in front of him. Then, with the image firmly fixed in his mind, he began to sprint after the creature that existed only in his mind. He ran with his hands outstretched as if to grab something, eyes alight and a big grin on his face.

Suddenly, the pain in his head intensified, forcing him to the ground. Caelen was unaware that he had fallen, unaware that he was screaming--all he was aware of was the sharp, burning pain in his mind.

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

((Samir))

“If you could do that—Lilith, you thought I’d shoot you down!” Then the faery laughed, appearing to startle himself as much as the elf. Lilith's gaze took in his features. He didn't look as if he had gone insane, but he was certainly beginning to act in such a manner. “Of course I’ll let you take them to Cetairiacelos! Bloody hell, I’d be a fool to say otherwise—you thought I’d refuse?”

By now, the elf's look was perfectly blank; this was not what she had been expecting. Nobody ever said that any assassin could take someone to Cetairiacelos for two reasons: either they didn't know about it, or they did. "Of course I thought you'd refuse," she answered despite herself. "Especially since I don't know what you know about Cetairiacelos, combined with your dislike of assassins and protectiveness of children."

The faery laughed again. “Yes, yes, of course I’ll let them go North. The Raí’alssa haven’t mobilized to such a degree that they’ve jeopardized travel on the western seas. You’ll have to tell me more—a whole lot more—before we see this through, though.” The elf gazed at him evenly. "How much more?" she demanded.

“Who exactly are the Devkto’a, and what’s their culture like? From the motley arrangement of your memories I have, I know that their language is decidedly uncouth, that they’re far enough north to prefer animal furs in thick layers to woolen cloth, and that their ships can withstand coastal travels for long distances, perhaps even a little further to sea than that. But beyond that, I’m clueless. It’d be a fine thing to entrust my charges to a group of savages, though I trust you’ve better consideration than to do that.”

"Not if it were the only way to protect them," Lilith replied, her eyes boring into Healer Vulnus's own. "The Devkto'a are primarily phocidae shifters. Their language belies the fact that they are--for the most part--a peaceful race. They do have ships for multiple people, however, most prefer their small, one man kayaks. They have an animistic belief system and value their elders." This was all rather vague, but to be fair, Healer Vulnus had asked a vague question. Hesitantly, she said, "In times of famine, they will leave their children behind in the hopes that someone less desperate than they will come along and take care of them, but they wouldn't do that if they knew that the Avelate wanted the children to arrive safely."

“Also, I’m aware that your Avelate can’t be discussed freely, but I would prefer to have a rough idea of what the children will be facing, once the voyage has begun. I imagine it’ll take some months for them to travel that entire distance, and we need to properly provision them for that."

Lilith stared at the map again, thinking. "I don't know much about sea travel," she admitted, "but once they reach Cetairiacelos, they'll probably be placed under the healers' charge. The healers will continue their education--simple mathematics, grammar, and they'll have the children study another language of their choice. There will be plenty of chance for them to get physical exercise, and even if the Avelate willed it, they won't be placed in any classes that bore great similarity to those given at the Academy."

"We could, have Anahita and Foertis each take a separate group of seven—well, perhaps not alone, actually. Anahita should stay with Foertis. A group of nine, then. ... They could head to the coast,” here the healer traced a route out on the map with his finger, “and in the meantime, you, Lysander and I could put our efforts into slowly getting the rest closer to the Devkto’an ports. That way, when the first group has been received, the distance for the rest to travel will have greatly decreased.”

Lilith opened her mouth to ask how they would be able to do all that undetected, when the healer voiced that very concern. “It could work. But I doubt Lysander’s prowess; to keep us undetected would be a strain on him, I think.” Here the faery glanced at the albino, and Lilith warily eyed him. Why should he be so cautious about such a subject? He already knew that she didn't like the blasted mage, so what difference did it make? Unless--here Healer Vulnus interrupted her thoughts.

“Lilith, I know you don’t like him very much. At all. But consider his resources ... his family is enormous, and I’m sure that once we reveal our enterprise, there will be a few willing to offer us aid. He can communicate quickly with them, though they know nothing of his whereabouts. If even a few Ælfhers will lend us their help, this will be so much the easier.”

Lilith eyed the man suspiciously as he stared at the map. So he had relieved one fear of hers--that he might try to send her to convince Lysander's family to help him. But why should he mention any of that to her, other than fact? Why did he have to introduce it by acknowledging the fact that she didn't like the man? "So what does that have to do with me?" she bluntly asked, hoping that he had no plans to involve her in that scheme, that he had indeed simply mentioned it in passing.

[ShadowWake]

((Faedra))

“No, this’ll be just fine, thank you.” Aerain said softly, though her admiration tinted her speech. As the faery wandered from room to room, taking in the furnishings, Faedra followed close behind, hands clasped tightly in nervous happiness. She wanted to miss no detail or desire that her guest's whims might require. Actually, she thought apprehensively, she looks a bit overwhelmed. Or maybe sad... certainly there was an innate sort of sorrow in the way her dark hair clung and curled around her shoulders, shoulders made to relax and remain at ease. She itched to draw the image, simply the bare shoulder ornamented by ink and curls.

“Thank you,” Aerain said once more, the sweep of her umber eyes catching the elf off-guard. “You have been very kind. I cannot begin to think what I can give to repay your generosity.”

Blushing furiously, Faedra exclaimed, "no, no! Don't even consider that, please; it's our pleasure to have you. Although,” she added with a dimpled smile, “it might take some time to adjust to a few of the more contentious family members.” Primarily Faolán and his twin; whether Aerain knew it or not, by winning over scornful Caera, she’d in essence gained the tolerance of most of this part of the family. “Don’t bother over them,” she advised, “and again, tell us if you should want anything. Oh! And if you need a guide through the forests to search for your—companions? allies?—there’s several of us you could enlist for help.”

“I’ll leave you be for now,” she chirped, folding her hands in front of her. “Look around, if you’d like! And I’ll be downstairs!” That said, she bent her head in a quick nod, then scampered down the stairs, unaware of the fleeting image her weak foresight had sensed.

((Nstif’ikta))

“My liege,” the freed faery said softly, sinking to his knees before her and lowering his deep gaze, “truly now my liege, and for what life I have yet, it could only be thus.”

Still wary of Morteza’s sarcasm, the Queen’s lips curled – though it was more of a sneer than a smile – and her crimson eyes narrowed slightly. ”Cease your crawling, Morteza,” she drawled in a low tone, ”I have no need of a worm.”

Turning her back to the black-winged faery, Nstif’ikta settled herself once more in the dark-wooded chair, her fine fingers still curled slightly in annoyance as they wrapped around the stiff arm. “My scouts have seen two mounted strangers at the elven pass,” she stated bluntly, ”And I have reason to believe that Major Ambey is one of them. If so, then my fire-bird has managed to gain the aid of another companion... though unlikely, it is – unfortunately – possible. Commander Pardai was destroyed – as were the majority of her followers – and yet, Major Ambey still lives and still hides. She knows no elf, therefore her companion can only be a faery. It is which that concerns me.”

Rising, Nstif’ikta turned to pace across the stone floor, her black locks twitching lazily across her shoulders as she stilled to face the Arandein. Dark mouth moulding into a smile, the Rau-lass fixed her scarlet gaze upon Melchios’ own. ”But I’m afraid my little fire-bird isn’t the whole of it, my pet,” she purred, though there was no trace of warmth in the sound, ”I believe you will remember the name Foertis Deus? He was captured a moon or so ago and tortured into revealing that one of Pardai’s close companions is involved in sabotage attempts against our inevitable progress. Now,” she murmured, her bright eyes piercing, ”We seem to have established your… loyalty… despite your affection, shall we say, for the late Commander. That leaves the high healer, Signum Vulnus – whom it is said loved her more than even you, my friend – and, of course, my dear Jasmine Ambey. A strange little triangle that is, isn’t it?”

Stepping a pace backwards to a more comfortable distance, the Rau-lass Queen tucked her hands into her robed sleeves, watching the faery contemplatively. “Now, Morteza,” she said simply, with no adornment in her tone, ”Seeing as you have connections to all those I have mentioned, I feel you are the best informant I have. However, do not – for one moment – believe that my trust in you is complete. I know who you are – I know your background – and I know that your loyalty is not always absolute. You will be pleased to hear, I think, that the faeries no longer have a monarchy.”

Smiling fully – a mischievous glint flashing in her rich red eyes – Nstif’ikta waved a single hand expansively at the man before her. ”Now, you must have something useful tucked away in that darkened mind of yours…”

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