The last of the three great Imlandris warships sank beneath the surface as the glow of twilight faded from the western horizon, and the sea turned to black beneath a sky of emerging stars. The sea was littered with debris, much of it aflame, casting an eerie glow upon the floating bodies of the dead and dying as they sank, one by one, into the darkness below.

Lanterns aboard the enemy ships were lit, their light cast out upon the water. The soldiers of the ships stood vigilant at the sides of the ship, sending arrows down into the flotsam at any sign of movement. One warship was sent to follow the currents to the west, seeking survivors who might have had the strength to swim.

The depths of the ocean stretched beneath the soldier in limitless darkness, its mystery boundless and containing a myriad of creatures of which man's knowledge scratched the surface only as deeply as the bows of their ships. The night air was warm but the sea itself was cold and merciless, causing him to shiver despite his constant effort. The salt abraded his skin beneath his clothes, stung his eyes, and sucked the moisture from his body. The current carried him southward, dragging on his tiring muscles, and threatening to send him in the path of the searching enemy ships. But he knew that before him lay a hope; that the currents shifted in this region of the sea, and that but a few miles from where the battle had raged passed the southbound current that would carry him into the Strait of Melynas, and to land.

He also knew that it was only a matter of time before the enemy fleet sent a ship to the southwest in search of survivors who had struck out with that very purpose.

Hours passed. The soldier had no concept of time, and the events that had occurred were so terrible to think on that his mind shoved them from his conscious thoughts completely, leaving only the realm of his physical strife to occupy himself. Eventually his body went numb from the cold, and his movements became steady repetitions as he swam ever westward. Occasionally he would lift his head, gazing at the angle of the stars to check his direction, but he never allowed himself to stop for long. Once he reached the current that ran along the mainland he knew he could rest, and allow himself to float upon the surface as the waters carried him into the Strait. He would need the energy he saved, for he would come ashore in a foreign land that would likely rather see him dead than alive. While Imlandris and Aranos could be described at the best of their relations as tolerant neighbors, it had been generations since open fighting had occurred between the countries.

The soldier pushed those thoughts from his mind, and concentrated on swimming.

Gradually his movements began to slow, as his muscles tired and his mind was too exhausted to push them further. Spurts of conscious frustration with himself would revive his energy, allowing him a few minutes of normal effort, but soon he would slip into a daze, and his movements would slow again. As it became harder to keep his breath he realized he was being pushed off course, and that if he could not reach the southbound current he would be swept eastward of the isle of Celynse, where he was certain to succumb to exhaustion and drown if the ships of the enemy did not find him first.

At length he discerned the distant sounds of a reef. His mind came alert as he identified the sound, for the Imlandris charts of this region had not indicated the presence of any reefs. Had he been swept so far off course? Or perhaps their charts had been inaccurate? That seemed strange, as many Imlandris ships had sailed this region across the centuries. He paused, and suddenly realized that here the sea was still; no currents pulled him north or south, east or west. The sounds of waves on rocks could be heard all around him, but no light from the moon and stars reflected off the whitecaps. If anything, the sea was completely still and serene, more as a lake in a forest than a reef out on the ocean.

By all his knowledge of the sea, this was impossible.

As he floated in that eerie place, it seemed as if everything about him moved when all of his perceptions told him that the world was still. He blinked, and noticed the presence of two bright orange eyes staring at him from not ten meters away. At once he wondered how long he had been staring at them. Had the creature just appeared, or had he only just noticed it? Its eyes seemed to emit a light of their own. Nervous, the soldier froze, wondering whether this creature was friend or enemy. If an enemy, he knew himself to be at a severe disadvantage, exhausted and in the water, but still he loosed the knife he had retained upon his belt, ready in case the creature should attack.

It approached, slowly, seeming more shy of the soldier than he was of it. He could not distinguish any characteristic that identified the creature as male or female, for though it appeared to have the rough shape of a man it was covered in scales of some dark color, perhaps green, and had no hair to speak of. Its nose was flattened oddly upon its face, and its eyes were covered in some strange extra lid that blinked occasionally from below. A large flap of skin fluttered along the creature's neck and upon the top of its chest, apparently covering some sort of gills. The creature raised an arm, which turned out to be webbed, as a bat's, and made a gesture with its hand, which was also webbed.

The soldier hesitated. He had no idea what the creature was trying to relate, and remained on his guard. Finally, releasing his hold on his knife, he decided that it was best to not to intimidate this creature. Perhaps it was simply saying hello? He raised his right arm, and waved dumbly. "Hello."

The creature opened its mouth, revealing two sets of sharply-pointed teeth, and with a strange forcing of air produced a sort of screeching bark in such a sharp and inhuman pitch that it pierced the soldier's ears and caused his head to ring. The creature repeated the sound, and as the soldier raised his hands to cover his ears it suddenly lunged forward, placing its scaly arms upon the soldier's shoulders and dragging him underwater.

There was a scream, and then the sea was silent.

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

He awoke upon a rock, and knew as much by the pain in his side where its sharp points were digging into his skin. Tenderly he opened his eyes, and found that the sun shone brightly in the sky, and it was mid-morning. As he shifted to sit up, he scraped his hands and arms on the edges of the rock, and was quickly bleeding. With several curses, he managed to prop himself up and take in his surroundings.

To the west lay the open ocean. There were no islands, or landmarks visible upon the horizon. Where was this piece of land the creature had cast him on? The mainland, in the country of Aranos? Or perhaps he had reached Celynse? Or had the magic been stronger than he'd thought, and he was upon some distant shore?

Perhaps he would be able to see more from the mainland. Turning, he looked towards the shore, and found that the stretch of land as far as the eye could see consisted of a rock face at least 200 meters high. Not unscalable, but with every rock along the way looking as sharp and cragged as the one he sat upon. Even worse, he was at least half that distance away from the base of the rocks. The water around him was clear as a mountain stream, and only a few meters deep. At the bottom were more rocks.

"Blasted scale-ridden fish-reeking sea creature," he mumbled. "It couldn't have gotten me any closer than this? Gods damnit." A wave hit the rock suddenly, splashing him across the face. It seemed the tide was coming in.

The soldier made his way slowly through the water, arriving at the base of the rock face only just before the waves became too strong for him to withstand. Even so, his skin was shredded and bleeding from contact with the rocks, and the saltwater against the wounds stung like fire. He fared no better in his climb upward.

Hours later he arrived at the top, and found a dense forest carpeted with moss and ferns covering the strata of the land. He sat beneath a tree and looked out upon the ocean, and for the first time since awakening realized that he felt neither hunger nor thirst since the creature had dumped him on the rock. Had the damned thing fed him as well? He hated to think what the meal must've been... probably raw fish of some sort. Hopefully dead raw fish.

Memories of the attack began to reappear in his mind, now that his body was at rest and free from imminent threat. The Celynse pirates closing in from behind, and the enemy fleet waiting up ahead. An anvil and hammer, sent to destroy them. His company of soldiers had sunk into the sea, filled with arrows. The captain of the Seaflower had caught fire, trapped beneath a piece of fallen mast. The wizard Baltek had taken an arrow in the throat, and fallen from the bow. And the prince - the man he had been sent to protect - had fought bravely against the boarding party, but had been cast into the sea as the pirate ship rammed their hull. The soldier had leapt into the sea after the prince, but he could not find him in the water, and a barrage of arrows was sent down, killing every man around him.

And then the sun had set, and he had begun his swim toward shore.

Had Baltek sent a message to the king before he'd died? There was no way to know. The archers had killed him early, there may not have been time. So, a short message at best. Would the king send help, or wait until the ships were due to return? Did more traps await them, or was it unsafe for the Imlandris fleet to sail south again?

He had to get home. It was no use counting on the wizard's message, or other survivors reaching shore alive and sending word to Caelin Tal. Whatever failures he must answer for were of little relevance compared to the importance of what only the soldier knew. The heir to the throne was certainly dead, and war had been declared upon the kingdom.

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

It was late into the night, and the barracks within the walls of Caelin's keep were dark and silent. The spring air was warm and the sky was clear, and the stars above Elumintir shone bright against the darkness. Crickets chirped within the yard, and a prowling cat yowled, but few creatures stirred under the shadow of the tower. Light from a single window shone down upon the dirt of the practice yard; it had become a constant presence over the past several weeks. The office belonged to Nathan Brown, knight of Imlandris and ranking officer in the king's army while the general was away.

Nat was a skilled swordsman, an avid bookworm, and had a knack for fixing just about anything. But since his injured leg had begun to recover he'd been tasked to office work, and had discovered the importance of someone with foresight and leadership ability providing direction and guidance for those in the military and the city watch. Still, he was completely miserable, and this was not a job at which he thrived. The king knew his misery, and did not expect such work from Nat forever, but at the moment the knight's help was needed, and Nat understood that. So he sat alone in his office, working late nights with little sleep, channeling his misery into tenacity for his work.

The lantern lit his desk poorly, but Nat preferred squinting in the darkness to breaking his concentration and fixing the light. His desk was piled with books and reports, their organization indiscernible to anyone besides himself. The cane he'd used for walking for the past several weeks, a welcome upgrade from his crutches, leaned against the desk, and his injured leg was propped upon a cushioned chair. He worked methodically and ceaselessly, considering each situation critically and applying the best of his knowledge to guiding the operations of those beneath him. Occasionally he stopped to massage his stiff leg, or refill the mug of strong tea that sat beside his work, but day after day he never glanced at the hour until his work was reasonably complete or until he fell asleep at his desk.

And so it was strange to hear footsteps running down the barracks hall. At first Nat didn't register the sound, he was so absorbed in his work. But they grew in volume and in urgency such that his thoughts strayed from the pages before him, and he looked up at the door. A young boy, dressed as a castle page, burst inside suddenly, panting desperately for breath. Nat stood and reached for his cane, immediately aware that something was wrong.

The boy barely managed a bow before begging to speak. "Sir Nathan, the king and the duke send for you at once."

Nathan nodded, putting on his coat and limping as fast as he could to the door. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know Sir," said the boy. "They only sent me urgently to bring you to the tower."

Nat winced a little inwardly, knowing that meant the boy had received a tongue-lashing from the duke. He followed the page out of the barracks and into the castle yard, cursing his injured leg but not daring to put any more weight on it than he knew it could take. The two made their way slowly in the darkness, eventually reaching the outer doors to the tower. A pair of guards opened the doors for them, and Nat's blinked as they entered the bright, torch-lit halls.

They climbed seven flights of stairs to reach the king's office. The boy was sweating nervously, and Nat knew it was because that the duke's expectations for Nat's arrival did not consider the difficulty of climbing stairs on an injured leg. Nat kindly dismissed the page before they entered the room, to save the boy any additional unnecessary grief. He was waved inside by a castle guard. The room was empty save for the king, the duke, and the king's old wizard, Gerynd. The king's expression at Nat's arrival was one of worry and relief, but the duke glared at him impatiently. "Many apologies for my tardiness," he said sincerely, bowing as he approached the king. "I'm afraid my leg is still quite stiff."

The king remained silent, but the duke's irritation was far from placated by Nat's excuse. The duke cleared his throat. "A seabird with a message arrived this morning in Haven from the wizard on the Seaflower."

"Baltek?" said Nat. Panic was entering his own chest; the general and the prince were on board the Seaflower.

The duke nodded, and continued. "The wizard's message spoke of an attack on our ships. But the spell was cut off before it was completed, so that's all we know."

"Unfinished?" asked Nat; an unfinished message was unusual.

The wizard, Gerynd, supplied an answer to Nat's confusion. "The bird didn't receive all of the message before it was relayed," said Gerynd. "Either Baltek was killed, knocked unconscious, or magically prevented from sending the message before it could be completely transmitted."

"Killed?" Nat was growing even more nervous.

"It raises concern for what may have happened to the ship," supplied the duke. "If Baltek was killed, that may mean the ship was somehow taken."

Nat glanced at the king. The other man was clearly stressed and worried for his son, though Nat knew that in any other company the king would be showing more strength than this. Nat felt the same; not only was the prince a close friend, but the general was near to a brother to Nat. The men's eyes met, and for a moment they shared each other's thoughts. "What are we going to do?" asked Nat, ready at once to leap aboard a ship and sail to the south to find his friends.

"That's what we've called you here for," said the duke, with a completely serious tone. "What would you advise, Sir Nathan?"

"Me?" Nat asked dumbly. Perhaps the stress was showing in his own voice more than it ought to.

"Yes, you. Our best tactician has been absent for weeks, and you've been filling his shoes. Now he may be dead or missing, along with the heir to the throne. You may not be the general, but you were his right hand. We'd like your opinion."

Nat squirmed inwardly, discomfort and worry overwhelming him. Still, he was a soldier, and thus practiced at hiding his emotions away until a later time. He forced himself to push his worries to the side so that he could consider the duke's question. He thought for several moments before responding. "As I understand the mission, they weren't supposed to be attacked. They were sent to stop Celynse pirates from raiding our trade routes."

"That's right," said the duke.

All eyes were on Nat. "Then there are three possibilities," he said. "First, that Baltek was knocked out, or stopped from sending the message. In that case we can presume that he'll send a second message when he's able, and we should be alert for it. Second, that Baltek was killed, and the ships are fine and on their way home, unable to send a message without a magician. Third..."

"That Baltek was killed, the ships were attacked, and our people need help," finished the king.

Nat nodded. "If the ships are fine, they should reach a southern port in Imlandris within the week. Or limp their way to Nacaea and refit there. Either way, we should receive a message soon."

"I agree," said the duke. "The prince would send word as soon as possible."

"But I think that you should send a ship to their location, regardless," said Nat. "If they need help, it won't be delayed waiting for a message. And if everything turns out alright, then one of our ships will have sailed a few days to the south for no reason." Nat considered that this suggestion was extremely risky, and might be slightly biased, but he found that he didn't care. He wanted to save his friend, not sit around for a week and wait for a message.

The king nodded. "I'll consider your advice. Thanks, all of you, and of course I needn't stress the importance of keeping these events to yourself. In the meantime, Nat, please prepare to leave for Haven in the morning."

(OOC Instructions: Info and Map for Imlandris and Aranos

DO NOT post for your characters in Caelin Tal!! In my next post, Nat will be traveling from Caelin Tal to Haven (a few days' journey downriver). Haven is a port city on the coast. If your character is starting in Imlandris, please post for your character in the city of Haven.

Everyone please consider in your posts that the missing ship and prince are not public knowledge, and that characters in Imlandris would not know of these events just yet. Characters in Aranos *may* know of the battle if they are influential enough. Don't worry, our characters will all find out everything they need to know by the time they need to.

If your character is starting in Imlandris, please provide me with some context that will help me incorporate them into the story. I'm going to be seeking a group of characters to accompany Nat to Aranos. This is going to be done secretly, but I need some connection between your character and the kingdom. Maybe your character helps a public official occasionally, was arrested, is friend to someone in a high position - it doesn't matter, but some connection to the kingdom officials or the military would be very, very helpful for putting our little crew together! The way this will work: 1) you post your intro, with helpful connection, 2) I'll interact with all of you with some combination of PCs or NPCs to get your character involved, 3) We'll all come together and leave for Aranos. Interactions between your characters before we leave is optional, but the fact that the ship is missing and that a rescue mission is being staged should remain secret from the general public of Imlandris.

If your character is in Aranos... this is more complicated. Gav is currently on Celynse and needs to travel to the mainland - this makes a meeting between our characters less feasible. I propose 1) you post an intro, 2) I post, stating that the few days' worth of time during which Nat is traveling to Haven has passed in the Aranos timeframe as well, and state that Gav has traveled to the Aranos mainland during that week, and 3) Gav seeks out allies in Aranos, and finds your character(s). I'm open to other suggestions if you have any? Someone mentioned playing a spy; that would be quite helpful. I think that, with my suggestion, Gav and the other character(s) probably won't end up interacting for a few rounds of posting.

If you want to join late, post in the recruiting thread and we'll work you in. As always, post any other questions in the recruiting thread too. Thanks everyone!)

"Yes m'lady" Maev quietly put down her poker and moved away from the rustling fire and towards the night stand. The massive wolf laying down by the hearth lifted his head off his paws and watched her movement with interest. His presence there seemed out of place. Like a part of the untamed wild had been brought indoors. One had the feeling that his presence was of his own choice. As if he were there for Maev only, and cared not for the safety or even presence of anyone else. Mave scratched his head as she left. He was inquiring. She didn't need Wolvgard to help her find her way about the room any more. She had been here two years now. She knew the room. The massive beast seemed to take her caress as a response and put his head down again. His eye never left her. Upon reaching the night stand Maev felt about for the hair brush. The desired comb sat by the brush and it too was picked up. The rustle of her ladyship‘s skirts means that she was sitting down.

She swished over to her mistress. Gently she grasped the soft downy hair into a low ponytail and began to run the brush through it. "My lady is not wearing her perfume tonight?" The object of her ladyship's affections would be at the gathering. The white hands put down the brush and set about twisting the perfect ponytail up into an ornate, but simple bun.

"There is such a thing as subtlety." But Maev could hear the smile and mischief in her voice.

"Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to imply that you should throw yourself at his lordship." The countess was indeed quite interested in his lordship. She fastened the bun with the comb.

"I know. Now off with you and be ready. It won't do for you to be unglamorous this evening." Maev smiled. She didn't get to go to many parties. But tonight she was to help her lady win her lordship, and for that she would have to attend. So with a swish of her skirt and a deep curtsy she scuttled off to get dressed.

Being behind the dressing screen meant being out of the wolf’s sight. So the big beast got up and padded his way across the cold stones so that he could sit where he could see. He didn’t like not being able to see his mistress, even if he knew where she was. Mave switched out of the simple white dress she wore every day, and into a dark purple one. The lavish dress set off her snow-like complexion and complemented her hair nicely.

It was a heavy piece of clothing and bedecked with much jewelry. She would look every inch the appropriate guest. She had to smile. Mistress had been quite thoughtful in providing the wardrobe. There was not a button to be had on any of the dresses. They always tied up neatly in the front, with a ribbon positioned so that it would look decorative, rather then functional. And though Maev did not know it, the kind woman had tailored the dresses to become her handmaid very well.

So it was that properly attired both ladies headed out to the party. Maev couldn’t help a smile. Perhaps tonight She would have a letter to send to King Halden.

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

Rosealyn threw the axe she had been holding into the snow. It fell blade first with a 'schick' and dented the whiteness. The barn door slammed shut breaking the serene winter silence. Like a flash she was off, tall strides carrying her swiftly towards her target. Somehow, her quarterstaff and found her hand and flew along beside her, like a witch's broomstick she had forgotten to mount.

"Come back here you chicken thief!!" She screamed at the rapidly growing shadow.

That was no shadow. It was a man, with a sqwaking, squirming chicken tucked under each arm. He was running like blazes leaving a trail of rumpled snow behind him. Rose was following him. Each footstep fell in one of his, making the print bigger. She disturbed no new snow.

Rapidly she gained ground. The mountain woman over came the theif just as he reached a steep drop off on the side of the mountain. The man, evidently did not realize his peril until it was too late. He went skidding right over the side and would have fallen to his death with the disturbed clods of snow had not Rose stuck out her staff and caught him by the shirt with it's point.

"Just where do you think your going with my chickens?" Rosealyn Christie was an imposing woman. Stocky, tall and amply muscled, she loomed over the man. Most of the village steered clear of Rosy-Lyn. She was flinty at worst and hard at best. Getting on her bad side was not an option. Evidently the theif was a stranger to this side of the mountain.

He was youngish, wiry with a square face and an impudent set to his jaw. The impudence showed in his eyes ad his tone of voice.

"Heh..I just thought they might like a change of scenery.." He shrugged and managed a grin trying to ignore the massive woman's grip on his collar and the fact that one of the chickens was making a very painful point in his side.

"Well, they've had it. You can put them back now." Dryly. Something about those glinting green eyes made her very persuasive.

"I'm afraid I can't." Her eyes narrowed. "You see, I am anchored to this spot."

She wasn't about to release him. He would run away. Instead, she set him down and transferred her grip to the back of his collar. She gave a hefty shove. The boy stumbled forward and grudgingly commenced to shuffle his way back to the barn.

"Mind telling me why your doing it?" A command.

"Because your making me." Well, he would talk soon enough. The chickens scuttled away to the darkest part of the barn where it was safe. Rose picked up the axe and handed it to him.

"While your here you can make yourself useful."

The youth's face said everything. He looked incredulous. "I would love to stay...but I have urgent business to attend to.."

"It can wait." Quite matter of factly.

And the axe was swinging away. After the wood had been done, he was set to changing the hay in the barn. He was given dinner and a place to stay. It was, as they were sitting around the blazing fire and finishing up dinner that he finally spoke. "How long you gonna keep me here?"

Rose just smiled.

"Where you from, boy?"

"Haven."

"How you get here?"

"I was kidnapped about a month ago. Been looking to get back. I would have been there already 'cept I... I found other things to occupy me."

So, he'd gotten lost. Rosealyn sighed. She would have to take him there then. “We’ll leave first thing in the morning.” He dropped the spoon in his soup and stared.

******

The journey to haven went well for the boy. Unfortunately the author cannot say the same for Rosealyn Christie. She was seasick for the duration and spent her time in her cabin paying homage to the god Ralph.

Upon exiting the ship she had to be supported by the railing and the boy. But once her feet hit the ground called Haven she perked up considerably. Geralt (for she had learnt the boy's name) barely waited for her to recover.

He was off through the town in a flash. The pair did not stop until they reached a large house. A woman was tending the garden. Two little toddlers tripped about at her feet. A large, well dressed man sat under a tree eating an apple and scribbling away at something. The family. Mother recognized him first, because she gave a cry of joy and engulfed Geralt in a hug. Father, his writing interrupted looked up in surprise and wonder. Soon he too was hugging his son.

"How can I ever thank you?" he asked the massive woman who leaned on her thick quarterstaff.

"Raise him right."

Geralt's father chuckled. "We'll do that. If you ever need anything, let me know. I am the lord of this town, and the third cousin of the Duke of Caelin..." He took the heavy gold chain off from around his neck and handed it to her. It had the family crest on it. Evidently she was to send the medallion back if she had a request.

"Thank you. I'll do that." There wasn't any point in telling him she was going to go home in a few days and that she didn't live there.

She turned and walked away, taking care to put the family crest into her pouch so it wouldn't get tarnished. She needed to find an inn for the night.

Sulking down the main thoroughfare of the port city, the dog did not attract a great deal of attention. He’d been seen here before, and while few would have been able to say why he was familiar, they would simply have shrugged it off by saying that he was one of the messenger hounds kept by the state government and surely most of them looked similar. Which wasn’t exactly true, but then, to most people, dogs were dogs and that was that, there was no reason to give them a closer look. Which suited Lacchi just fine. He didn’t want anyone looking twice at him. He’d never liked attention.

The only thing separating him from the strays that wandered about in the poorer parts of this town was the thick leather collar wrapped about his neck. Good for protection in dog fights, carrying about messages and coin and identifying him, through the faded crest stitched into the leather, as the property of the estate of Caelin. Or rather, Imlandris, though there wasn’t really any difference. Caelin Tal was the capital of this country and much of the controlling estate, the governance and the king, were all situated in the fine city. And it was to there that Lacchi had been ordered to return. There was money in his collar to pay for any expenses his journeys might incur from the good folk he was supposed to come across and ask to feed him. That was how it worked, after all. Everyone knew the system, even the dogs. They were the property of the country and should be treated just as human errand runners were, given room and board if they showed up and then left to go freely on their way in the morning if there wasn’t anything wrong with them.

Dogs were cheaper to keep than humans at least, so he’d heard many an inn man grumble as he took half again what he ought. But he was staying in Haven until he was rested some more, though there weren’t enough hounds to keep him off work for the day. At least he wasn’t doing any major runs. He’d overheard the kennel keeper giving orders to keep the black and white one in town and only on the slow routes. He was one of their prize runners, being a cross with some sort of racing hound, so they couldn’t afford to lose him from bad treatment. It was nice to be appreciated, but he’d still have preferred a day off to sleep and laze about.

And how he wanted to be lazy today. He’d run himself ragged for three days straight to get here because the kennel keeper had said that this was urgent news. He’d forgone a good feed and taken only enough breaks to have a drink every now and again and a few hours sleep. It was what they were supposed to do when the master ordered them to run instead of just to go someplace. So he had. He’d been dirty and panting and ready to collapse and the man had taken one look at the letter he’d carried to him and said they should have sent a bird. A bird! Of course they should have sent a bird! But obviously they hadn’t had one to send or they probably would have.

His hackles bristled slightly as he remembered how the man hadn’t even bothered to make sure he was all right. He might have been nothing more than a dog, but he had done the job asked of him well. Of course, it wasn’t really the master’s task to look after dogs; that was for the kennel keeper of this city to do. So Lacchi had been forced off the ground, though he’d dearly wanted to remain where he’d been lying, and sent down the street to the kennels where he was finally rewarded with a nice bed of straw, a heavenly round of beef, even if it had been the leftovers no human would want, and a big bowl of water. What more could a dog ask for? Why should he want more?

The cursed god sighed as he slipped around a couple walking even slower than he was and darted through the traffic to reach the other side of the street. He had been told to go to the Inn. A place of good reputation and admirable staff who kept a clean room and a good table. None of the poorer folk could rent its rooms, but from what he’d overheard while the man was writing out the letter, there was a party arriving on the waterfront that would be making use of it. So they’d need to keep their rooms free. He hadn’t heard any more details than that, he hadn’t really been paying attention. It may have been a party of one, or a party of twenty. Lacchi wasn’t overly interested. There wasn’t really anything to be interested about, it was just another message, and there would be another after it, and another.

When he got to the Inn, the hound wandered into the fancy courtyard that proved it was a place of high standing, given the cobbled and swept ground and the stables off to the side that very nearly matched the house itself, and then he sauntered to the door and barked. He could have let himself in, but the first few times he’d tried to prove his intelligence to the people he was bringing letters to, they’d reacted badly. So he refrained from invading the privacy of others and let them come open the door. Didn’t save on time, but it did save on the number of people cursing his over enthusiasm. He wagged his tail happily when a man greeted him with a frown, then barked as he kept standing there. Finally, the fellow saw the collar, which could probably have done with some restitching and maybe being replaced altogether, and put two and two together.

After which he was free to return to the kennel and find himself another message to deliver. But he saw no reason to hurry. If he wasn’t to be used for urgent business, then his absence wouldn’t affect the run of this country. In fact, his absence on any day probably wouldn’t ever affect the running of this country. The dog snorted and huffed at his foolish thoughts, then paused and plunked himself down to scratch vigorously at a sudden twinge on his neck. His claws couldn’t quite dig far enough beneath his collar to reach the niggling bother though, so he just scratched harder and faster, almost toppling over in his desire to make the itch go away. Honestly, if anyone walking by had known he was really not a dog, he would have been mortified to be caught out so desperate just to get rid of an itch. But they didn’t know, so he was perfectly free to have at it as much as he wanted to.

Finally, he paused to return the stare of the man who’d been watching his efforts in amazement. Lacchi couldn’t help but be amused. Keeping his leaning position, the hound dropped his lower jaw and let his tongue hang out in a doggy grin, laughing in his head at the fellow and then, just because he could and it was unlikely anyone would believe the man, he sent him a thought. -What? Y’ain’t never seen a dog wi’fleas afore?- Then, brown eyes dancing and folded ears flicking forward at the look on the man’s face, he righted himself and continued on. Suddenly, his day was that much brighter.

He was still panting happily when he returned to the kennel, and the old man at the desk who took down the words people wanted sent, smiled back at him as though they both shared a wonderful joke. Of course they didn’t, but since he liked the old man, and the fellow happened to be eating his lunch, Lacchi wandered over and let his chin drop into his lap. Rolling his eyes up, he begged shamelessly for a morsel of the smoked meat sandwich. He hadn’t had bread in such a long time…

A Merchant's Offices, Haven.

“Well here she is!” He stood behind his desk as they led her into the room. “I just couldn’t believe it when my bhoys told me you was so small. Who could think an ugly little old lady like you m’dear could cause me such aches.” He chuckled, the cigarette hanging between his lips jumping about as though alive. “Where’re you manners bhoys, show this lady a seat.”

Two pairs of vice hands clamped down on her shoulders and shoved her backward into a large chair. It almost swallowed her tiny frame, with its arching back and broad high shoulders. The same hands untied the cloth from her mouth with surprising delicacy.

“You fuc-” The hands replaced the cloth.

“Now now girl, no need for such thick-skinned behaviour.” He slipped round his desk, casual, elegantly, and sat in front of her, crossing his legs. Without removing it he sucked on the cigarette and inhaled. “And we know, oh we know, you can be quite thick-skinned love.”

*

She sat on the mesa, the roof of her home, and looked out through the fog of Troll Country. Flickering like little fireflies, something moved in the swirling, choking white. She had been following them for hours now, catching them right on the border and trailing them into the deepest, most dense hollows of her Country. She wasn’t sure who they were - merchants, pirates or just wayward adventurers - she didn’t care either, she just didn’t want them trespassing on her land. She extinguished her cigaretta and clambered to her feet. Her tired skin twitched its best effort at a grin. The trap was taut and about to spring, and Hester would be there to make sure it did.

*

A small wagon convoy, their wheels suckled on by the mire of Troll Country. There are three men leading; all of their hands sore, their feet rotting with damp.

“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“There, up ahead. In the fog…”
“What’re - What the? Hey, Mister A, looka this.”

“Looka what?” A heavily cloaked man slipped off the wagon and joined the two men in the fog. “What’s that?”

“Looks like a figure. Hoy there!”
“Shhh.”
“Whatchu shushing me fur?”
“Somethin’ might hear you.”
“Somethin’? Whatchu mean somethin’?”
“You don’t think they call it troll country fur nothin’ do you?”

“Shut up. Both of you. Mister B. Take a lantern and find out what that is.” The cloaked man, Mister A, pointed at the human figure shadowed in the fog ahead. Mister B hesitated for a moment, but thought twice about crossing Mister A and turned and trudged through the swamp towards the figure. As he got closer he raised the lantern. The fog drifted reluctantly aside, like a heavy curtain, and the figure came into relief.

“What is it?” The third man - Mister C - called. Up ahead Mister B turned back with his lantern. “It’s… It’s a scarecrow. Freaky lookin- aaahhhheeeee!” The scarecrow’s shadow moved and Mister B screeched. The fog curtains railed across, hoarding the scene ahead from sight.

“What in Ralph…”
“It’s here.”
“What’s here?”
“Shut up!” Mister A snapped at Mister C. He leapt onto the wagon’s seat and struck the bell hanging there. Behind the convoy ground to a halt and a dozen shouts went up.

“What’s here Mister A? What’s that thing that took Mister B?”

“Shut up!” Mister A snapped again, rummaging in his pockets. He pulled a bell jar from some hidden depth, held it out as far from his chest as possible and opened it so very carefully. The blue ribbon which had been lurking inside snapped taut at the taste of air. It twitched. It turned slowly. Carefully. It slipped through the air, out of the bell jar and realised it was free. And realised it had a job to do. With a papery snap it shot off into the fog, leaving it’s tail behind in the bell jar. A tail to follow.

*

“It seems it wasn’t trolls after all Mister C,” Mister A stood over a crumpled old dwarf, bound by the blue ribbon from the bell jar. Mister C stood by his side. “What’d you do with Mister B!” He snarled kicking the dwarf in the back. She screeched and rolled away.

“Take her to the wagon men.” A dozen hands swallowed Old Mother Hester.

*

“Imagine. After all these years. So very long have we business men of Nerandor been trying to carve ourselves a nice slice of tender Meigian trade. And the quickest way to it’s heart, through the arteries of the Troll Country, had been guarded by a stumpy, ugly, smelly, mad old dwarf lady. You’ve quite a repertoire amongst the men of the merchant world. And quite a penny you’ve cost us all too.” He slid the cigarette across his lips, clamping it and taking another drag. “What did you say she was called?”

“Hester,” one of the hands answered.

“Just Hester?” The hand nodded.

“Well Hester,” the business man patted her bruised cheek. “A couple nights more in the gaol and you’ll hopefully look less like a holiday turkey. More fresh for the slaughter. I’ll inform my Brothers in Trade that I’ve caught the uncatchable, the troll of the Troll Country, the ghost of Meigia; that we need fear no more.” He bent his face close to hers and laughed, his cigarette jumping again.

“After all that… I can’t believe it. An ugly old woman. I can‘t believe it.” He exhaled a furnace of smoke into her face, like some loathsome dragon. The hands pulled her from the chair.

A tiny, forest-flycatcher landed on the windowsill of Arthur's little hollow in Aranos, and stared at him intently from its perch. At first the mage didn't notice the arrival of such a small creature, and continued eating his breakfast in silence. But the little bird soon began peeping in earnest, and he turned around to see what the fuss was about.

He recognized the presence of a message-bird, though the species was certainly unusual. Large birds such as gulls and hawks were often used because it was easier for them to carry messages over long distances. Small birds, such as this one, were often easily killed or exhausted en route. He walked over and extended his finger, allowing the tired bird to step onto it. The message was there; it was a long one, and magically keyed to him specifically. Arthur extended his left hand above the bird and released the key spell, and the second spell that held the message was unbound from the bird. It floated in the air before him, like swirling particles of ink, and Arthur sent the spell to a blank piece of paper that lay upon a nearby table.

The message that appeared upon the page bore the seal of the king of Imlandris, whom Arthur had never met. He did, however, know Sir Gavilan quite well, and the knight's name was mentioned. As was that of the Imlandris prince, and the mage Baltek. The king asked Arthur to suspend his current plans for travel in Aranos and help to find the missing prince, as well as the other men on the missing ships.

Arthur sighed, and sat back down upon his chair. The little bird continued to perch patiently on his finger, though it was free of the spell, and Arthur poured some water into a bottle-cap for the creature and set the bird on the table to drink. The flycatcher dipped its bill into the offered water and sat for some time, and when it began to look lively again Arthur called to the winds outside and found a swarm of gnats, bringing them through the window. The bird hopped to the back of the empty chair across from Arthur, eagerly perching and calling, and began flitting through the swarm, snapping its bill and picking off the gnats one by one.

Rubbing his hands stressfully upon his forehead, Arthur contemplated why he couldn't seem to manage to escape such troubles. Perhaps the world was simply filled with them. He burned the king's message, withdrew a second piece of paper, and began penning a letter to one of the king's spies, Maev, in the Aranos court. The Imlandris prince may be in Aranos; find out if he is alive was coded into the text.

He would have to send the letter by regular post, and it would not arrive until the day after tomorrow. By then Arthur would be in the west of Aranos, searching for survivors.

(OOC to Maev: The opportunity for Maev to obtain this information will be provided in my next post. Go ahead and post Maev's receipt of the letter, and let me know of anything else you need).

*****

A squire walked into the Traveler's Way in Haven, and inquired if he might be directed to the room of Rosalyn Christie. He was perhaps a bit tall for a squire, and older than one might expect, but he drew no suspicions from anyone. The innkeeper obliged the polite and well-spoken young man and sent him upstairs, directing him to the third room on the right.

He knocked upon the door, and when the red-headed woman answered he bowed deeply. "Forgive me for disturbing you, Miss Christie, I know your journey has been long and you must be eager for a night's rest. Might I beg a few moments of your time, in private?"

The man entered the room, and the two sat down at the small table by the wall. "First, let me say that I am not quite as I seem. I've only come dressed as a simple squire to hide the nature of my purpose." The man pulled his outer tunic to the side to reveal the king's crest upon his undershirt. This identified him as one of the few chosen Knights of Caelin, honored men who gave their lives to serve their king and Imlandris. "My name is Melin, and, as you see, I am a knight of Caelin. I come to ask your help in the name of the king, Rosalyn Christie. The father of the boy you brought to Haven spoke very highly of you to many of my comrades, and it was come to be known that you are from the southern province near the mountains. We are sending a party to that province with urgent purpose, but their journey must remain as secret as possible. None of the men we have here in Haven know that area well, and no others can be called upon with the urgency or discretion that we need. Instead, would you be willing to guide our party to a specific location in the mountains? The location we were given is obscure, and likely only understandable by someone who is familiar with the wilderness in that area."

"I must be up front, Miss Christie, there may be some danger to your life - especially if knowledge of this journey is spread. The danger will likely be minimal from Haven to your homeland, and much greater once they reach the meeting-point they seek. We would not ask you to help us if you are at all uncomfortable with this fact."

*****

"This is it? Your best one?"

"That's him, sir," the kennel keeper said, indicating Lacchi. "He's on in-town duty for now, I'm afraid. They're sending him up to Caelin Tal in a week or so. But I've other fine hounds that would suit better, if you come over here-"

"No," said the city watch officer. "The orders changed; they said they want this one. We're pulling him from message duty and sending him to the castle in Haven. Lord Roupe requires him."

"Very well," said the kennel keeper, looking down at the orders he'd been handed.

The city watch officer led Lacchi away from the kennel, and down the city streets towards the castle. He interacted little with the dog, treating him as a simple duty that was part of his regular day. Once they were inside the castle keep the officer took Lacchi across the yard and into a side entrance, where they instantly detected the smells of cooking. Down a hall and through a nearby door were the castle kitchens, and the officer indicated that this was where Lacchi was to stay. "Kristen," the officer called over one of the cooks. "Can you keep an eye on this guy for a day or two? Lord Roupe wants him kept nearby and ready to go at a moment's notice. He's well-trained, so he won't be a bother."

The woman looked dubiously down at the dog. The last thing she wanted in her kitchen was fleas. "If the lord requests it," she said reluctantly. "But he's to have a bath to get rid of the fleas, and he needs to stay out of the main kitchen. He can stay in the chef's sitting-room, the kitchen crew won't mind having him in there."

The officer nodded. "Don't let him wander about the castle," he said. "And feed him well, he's going to need the energy in a few days."

Kristen looked at him like he was stating the obvious. "Honestly, who do you know in a kitchen who isn't well fed? C'mon, dog. It's bath time."

*****

A bruised and battered Old Hester was brought into the Haven city jail by a group of proud and rowdy merchants. She was declared a witch, an enemy of the state, and charges were being pressed against her for loss of merchant goods and for the disappearance of a number of brave souls who guarded the merchant trains. The prison guard looked at the merchants strangely, seeming utterly shocked. "A witch? You're serious? A real, honest witch?"

"That's right, a witch!" they exclaimed. "What's so unusual about a witch? There's lots of 'em around, though they're squirrely as 'ell to catch. We oughta know!"

"Of course. Yes. You're right," said the guard, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. "Here is your paperwork, we'll contact you when the magistrate is ready to hear the trial." They took Hester and her stick, placing one in a cell and the other in a locked closet.

Not two hours later, Melin entered the jail. He was dressed as a knight this time, and accompanied by one of Lord Roupe's most trusted mages. The prison guard showed him to Old Hester's cell. Melin bowed politely. "My name is Melin," he said to the old woman. "I am a knight of Caelin, which I'm sure means little to you, but my word is good, if that's any comfort. My friend here is a healer, and he will heal your bruises, with your permission."

"I come to offer a trade," Melin continued. "The government of Imlandris takes no part in your dispute with the merchants, especially as the merchants break more laws in their business overseas than you do by fighting them. I have seen the evidence and can tell you truthfully that our laws are not going to find you guilty based only on the word of the merchants. So, you need not worry about the charges you face. However, the fact that the merchants brought you to Imlandris presents some difficulty, as I assume you would like to return home to Meigia once you are set free. We are prepared to offer you a return trip to Meigia in exchange for a favor. Would you, Hester, be willing to travel to Aranos and use your witch magic to aid our kingdom? If you agree, we will send you home on a ship that leaves for Meigia in two months' time."

Old Hester was sprawled across the cot, her face tented by those gigantic hands of hers when Melin and some ostentatious mage entered the cell. She didn’t look up at first, keeping her eyes closed and moaning, “Vann almighty! Does no one rest on this side of the world? I’ve been hurled, shoved, cursed, every fast paced and painful verb in the world since home.”

She peeled one eye open, peering at the two men between her fingers. “Who’re you’s?” She allowed the knight to explain without interruption. She was more than bright enough to realise the situation she had landed herself in this time was quite the bottleneck. She was willing to take any card from the deck, as long as it got her out of jail free. She sat up.

“Witch?” She chuckled. “Alright… If you say so."

"Hmm…” She rolled her tongue across her teeth, counting them like an abacus, thinking the offer through. “I ain’t never heard of no Aranos… Just don’t lay your magicking fingers on me,” she narrowed her eyes at the healer, “I don’t want no magic stinking me up. The stench is clinging to me enough as it is. Those damn merchants worked some nasty juju on me at home." Oh that note, she nodded, as though deciding. "Get my cane and I'm yours. It's a tall thing, thingamabobs dangling all from it. They took it off me when I was brought here, dunno where they hid it.”

*

The cane was found in a closet between a mop it’s bucket and a broom. They all looked suddenly forlorn when the cane and it’s thingamabobs were plucked from their side. Hester thanked the two men and, using it as a crutch, lifted herself off the cot and onto her feet. “Lead on mister Melin.”

Hmph! Lacchi eyed the officer with no small amount of injured dignity. Imagine! Waking up to have two men staring at you and then having one of them ask 'this is it?' as though they were disappointed! Well, what had the man been expecting? A horse? Or maybe he'd wanted a mastiff. Well, how unfortunate for him. The god yawned and stretched as they talked between themselves, then went to curl up in the corner of his pen to go back to sleep. He'd grown used to the idea of being lazy for the whole amount of time he was given to be lazy. After all, the rest of his life was now taken up with carrying messages about. He got enough exercise doing that that he didn't see any reason to give himself more.

It seemed he wasn't to be given the chance however. The black and white hound sighed as he was called to the door. Orders were orders and that's what had come his way. Good thing he was only a well-trained mutt who didn't have to know what those orders were exactly. Lacchi couldn't help but wonder at this strange behaviour, at the shift in the routine he had known for a few years now. Oh sure, there were the occasional requests made in cases where messages weren't quite ready to be sent off yet, or when a noble was worried he might need to send off some missive quickly, or while traveling, but it wasn't often. And almost never for a specific dog. So, he had grounds to be suspicious, especially since that specific dog happened to be him.

Still he followed the officer without much fuss and enjoyed the fairly slow pace the man set. Apparently, they weren't about to go traveling any time soon or they'd have been walking at least a mite faster. It was a nice day though, had been when he'd gone out that morning to stretch his legs while delivering a quick money note to the butcher for the meat they'd been taking off of him, and still was. It was full of sights and scents and sounds. The very same ones he passed every day. The baker's shop with its flour and yeast, the dyer's with their boiling liquids and smelling fabrics, wet wool, piss and rotting plants. There was the smith, in the distance, hammer ringing against an anvil, and the fields, pleasantly left to their own devices, since the fine Lord Roupe had no wish to look out his windows every day and see toiling, dirty peasants.

The air was fresh, the wind was gentle, the sun warm on his back and he should probably be worrying more about just what was in store for him when they reached the castle. Lacchi could not, however, bring himself to the level of anxiety required for him to bother. Short of dashing off now and ruining a good career, one that saw him well-fed and sheltered from the rain, there wasn't much he could do about it until it happened. And, who knew? Maybe there wasn't anything going to happen. So he'd have wasted his time worrying over nothing. He hoped...

When they got to the castle, Lacchi would have enjoyed the chance to look around, have a sniff about and search out any good hiding places. Or maybe just find the Lord and learn what it was he was wanted for, but of course, no one thought to tell the dog anything. One would think he'd have grown used to it by now. Which was probably the reason he didn't try to learn anything more. Instead, he continued to follow the man meekly and was overjoyed when he caught the scent of the place they were walking towards. A kitchen was, according to him, a far more important place to visit than any high and mighty lord's study. After all, a kitchen had food.

Lacchi's crinkled ears perked up as a woman came over, and he waved his tail back and forth just in case... But she didn't bring any food with her, and then went and dashed all his hopes in one breath. Not being able to stay in the kitchen meant that he wouldn't be able to beg! But he'd be stuck near enough that he'd be smelling all the wonderful smells! And someone was going to give him a bath... Lacchi didn't like bathes. It was one thing to be clean, it was quite another to get half-drowned with water up your nose and in your ears and soap suds in your eyes. He glanced dubiously up at the officer who'd brought him here, but the man only glanced down at him once, gave Kristen the news that he'd be staying there for a few days and left him there with her.

At the woman's positive commentary on the state of people who remained in, or near, the kitchen, his tail picked up a little rhythm for a moment, but apparently, his dreams weren't about to be realised just yet. Lacchi sighed as he followed the woman out another door and was given into the care of a younger woman who looked positively delighted to be given the task of dog washing. Well, he shared her delight. But at least it might get rid of the itchy pests that had been plaguing him since he'd slept in that barn awhile back. And maybe after that bath would come the food...

Xiella 'Silvertongue'

Silvertongue worked above deck, sorting the ropes and checking knots, retying anything that needed retying as the Boatswain commanded while the Gunner and his mates saw to the cannons and their ports lining the sides of the deck. Looking out over the port railing on the starboard side, the draconis was relieved to see the rocky cliffs of Celynse coming into view; their craggy hideaway so close at hand. High above the gulls danced happily, calling out in subsequent unison, hoping to claim for themselves whatever small morsel they could find.

Though it had been several days since the smaller schooner, The Devil’s Gale, had been engaged with the three large, well build warships of Imlandaris along with several other ships of pirate kind, and their search for any survivors was finally at an end. Still, there was stmuch unease among much of the crew. Like most pirates, Xiella could have been considered ‘uneducated’ along with most of the crew, especially seeing as she had spent a good deal of her life in the wild lands of Nerandor living off foaming tribesmen before jumping into banditry and then piracy, but it did not take much to recognize the signs of potential war.

Only the Captain and his officers seemed all too pleased with their part in the confrontation. Personally the draconis had to wonder what kind of bargain they had struck with the Aranos government as pirates of their smaller stature rarely got involved in external affairs. Whatever it was though, Xiella was certain she and the crew would see no cut.

Perhaps she would not have been so concerned by this though were it not for her position among the crew. Sometimes the draconis swore she was being punished for past misdeeds; her immaculate voice and inexplicable charm captivated people despite her worse-for-wear appearance and stony disposition. She did not know how she drew people in – she just did – and this enigmatic talent had gotten her elected as the ship’s Quartermaster; the liaison for the entire ship and crew.

This meant she was constantly relaying messages between the officers and crew; keep track of inventory and supplies, and making sure the sip maintained a positive moral. This also meant she was in a world of constant hell. If something suddenly ran out, broke down, or went missing, it was instantly her fault and she had to bare the blame until the problem could be solved. It was even more annoying when there was a state of discord among the crew.

Her tail twitched agitatedly behind her; another reason that had likely drawn the crew to her. They were meek, composed of mostly humans, elves, and other similar races, and were either afraid of the Captain and his officers, or did not have the intellect to take command themselves. Xiella was not though, and though most of the crew did not recognize humanis draconis to see one, it was not hard to tell she was different than the rest.

While much of her appeared to be human, there was little Xiella could do about the tail that hovered behind her short of cutting it off. It covered in midnight scales, and while it had become shorter and stubbier than an average draconis’s tail in human form because of the large chunks that had been carved from it in both her human and draconis form over the years, it was still prominent enough not to go unnoticed.

If that wasn’t enough to set her apart from the rest of the crew, there were also her eyes. They had no whites; no irises, or pupils at all. Instead, it appeared as though a thunderstorm had been caught within translucent orbs, thick midnight clouds toiling and tumbling within; the mark of the shadow realm from which her race was from. The fact that her eyes had taken on a blue hue was odd in and of itself though, as the eyes of the draconis were almost always black.

She had never shown this particular crew her draconis form, but somehow they all knew that she was more powerful than she let on. If anyone was to lead a mutiny against those in command of The Devil’s Gale, the rest of the crew was determined to see that it be her. Unfortunately for them though, Xiella Silvertongue had no interest in taking command, even with this latest slight from their Captain.

“Quartermaster!” a voice called out from behind her, and she turned to ‘Old Dogface’, the Captain’s Lieutenant, himself. “You’re to take a boarding party ashore to gather supplies. The longboats have already been prepared.”

“Aye Sir,” Xiella said with a nod, “I shall see too it as soon as I finish up here,” She then turned to finish threading a new length of rope through some rigging, but found herself being forced back around to face the Captain’s hand. It took much to resist slapping the ugly of the man’s face right then and there.

“You are to leave now,” the Lieutenant damn near spat in her face. “Captain’s orders. You’re boarding crew has already been selected and is waiting. The Boatswain can find someone else to do the rigging.”

She stared at the man, trying to keep the hatred out of her gaze. “Aye Sir. I’ll see to it right away.” So, this was the way her service aboard the The Devil’s Gale ended, was it? Well, it was getting to time for her to be moving on. She had been planning on leaving the ship sometime in the near future anyways…

The party had been divine. Maev had been able to dance with several young squires, and had a lovely conversation with an adventurous and daring young man who sat much too close to the fire and burnt himself. Well, his clothes anyway. The poor fellow had to excuse himself that he might make reparations to his singed state.

But that was two days ago, and Maev was once again attending the regular and oft quiet routine that was her duty. She had learnt little at the party. It was rude to flirt with someone else's Chosen, and the Baron had paid little interest in the hand maid. Which was for the best. She had done what she could to glean information elsewhere and had not been successful. Such was the life of the spy. One could have a steady trickle or a torrent of information for a short while and then nothing for years.

Nothing didn't mean things weren't happening. It just meant that whatever was happening hadn't been discovered yet. Most information to be discovered was sent over by order. Anything accidentally discovered was just that. So mostly her life was one of waiting.

Today she was taking up a hem in one of her mistress' gowns to suit the latest fashion. Fashion now dictated that hems stopped at the ankles. That left dozens of dresses to be taken up. Maev Naomhan-Nara was on her fourth that morning; the tenth in two days. This particular dress was tricky in that it was made of silk and so the stitches must be small and close. Such perticular stitches were difficult to execute on fabric which slipped so readily.

Maev was a good seamstress and she fought the fabric well.

Wolvgard hated sewing; hated being cooped up for hours at a day. He had been more frolicky then usual, so Maev had promised him a good run after lunch. She had an hour's free-time then, and planned to run the beast ragged. Tine dragged on for another half-hour and the woman was loosing patience with the cloth. She'd been at the dress for the better part of the morning and her fingers had been poked rather badly. She was becomming irritated.

"M'lady!" She called off the balcony to the statuesque below.

"Yes, girl? What is it?"

"I want to go a bit early for my walk."

"Go ahead, I shan't be needing you till tonight." There was a dismissive wave of her hand and the noblewoman returned to her task.

Delighted Maev called to Wolvgard (though she really didn't need to) and the pair set off for their walk. It was to be more of a run really. Before she could start, however, maev was stopped by the postman--a scrawny old man on a donkey.

"Your the Wolf Lady, aren't ya?" He really needn't have asked. The massive white wolf standing by the woman's side was answer enough, and if he needed further proof his donkey's unease provided it. All the same Maev nodded.

There was a moment of silence.

"I have some mail fer ya."

Another moment of silence. Trying not to look discomfited by the wolf, the old man extended a handful of envelopes to the young woman. She didn't reach out to take them. Puzzled the man frowned.

"You don't owe me anything, you know."

"I know. Give them to Wolvgard. Don't be afraid, he won't hurt you." She reassured him.

Now the man really was concerned. The great white wolf was a fearful looking canine indeed. Trembling he handed the envelopes to the wolf, who took them delicately between his teeth and set off towards the palace at a fast lope. Feeling as if he had debased himself, the man clucked to his donkey and left.

When her companion returned he carried but one envelope which the kitchen-boy had sent back with him. Rolph was probably the only person in the palace who was not disturbed by the presence of the massive animal. Infact, the page felt at awe around the wolf and delighted in it's company. He was quite at home ordering the animal about, so it was very likely that the rest of the mail had been delivered.

Maev placed her letter in the bosom of her dress. She would have her mistress read it to her when she got back.

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

There was a knock on her door. Rosealyn Christie gave a soft groan, put her book down and shuffled about in search of her robe. Whoever it was knocking this late in the evening had better have a very good excuse. She grabbed her quarter staff and opened the door. Melin would never have known of the staff's existence unless his warrior's training told him. It fit perfectly behind the open door and was held there in such a way as to appear nonexistent.

The large woman glared at him from under a mess of wavy red hair. She was wearing a furred robe over a thick cotton night gown that tickled her collarbone and touched her toes. At this hour and in her present mood, she looked more like a wolf then the skin she was wearing. Infact, the wolf was probably friendlier before she killed it.

-- 'Miss Christie'? It had been a long while since she had been called 'Miss' anything,let alone 'Miss Christie.' The folk always called her Old Christie, despite the fact that she was far from old. Rosy-Lyn, Rose (rarely), Lyn and even Flinty Lyn. But never 'miss'. 'Ma'am' was the closest she'd gotten to anything. Sometimes she wondered if the village even remembered she was human. Not that it mattered much. There were more important things to care about, such as why he was here--

She had more then half a mind not to let him in. No decent person came prowling around a woman's room this late at night. Well, he could come in if he wanted to. She nodded and made way for him to enter. He took a seat at the table by the far wall so she did too. She may have left her quarter staff at the door but that didn't mean she wouldn't take him. Squire or no.

Well, he was from the king. She could recognize a royal symbol when she saw one. His name was Melin and he wanted help. Word traveled fast. Very fast. Especially for such a large town as this. They made her little village in seem slow. So they wanted her to guide them across her mountain. It might as well be her mountain. As far as she knew she was the only one up there.

She would guide them. If it was for the king then it was worth doing. Besides, it could get awfully routine up there in those mountains. Even the adventure of fighting nature could get old. It would be nice to test her strengths in other areas for awhile. Uncomfortable? She almost laughed then. Death was the mountain. Between the wild animals, the violent and tempestuous weather, the avalanches, the mountain's temper and the rugged terrain death lurked around every corner.

And she should be uncomfortable by a threat on her life. Granted the source was different but death was death all the same. The leathery woman smiled then. It was a big smile; jovial. "You've got yourself a guide." She stood up stretching her long legs. She made the table look tiny.

"Won't need no horses. Pack lightly. Dress warm. Bring lots of salted meat and wafers. Forget the water."

Simple instructions. But very vital. "See you tomorrow."

Obviously she expected him to be leaving now. He would need his rest if he was to embark on that journey. Arithymas was a hard master.

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

The letter was vaguely signed and not dated. The paper was crisp and white and the handwriting a bit shaky. Unusally so. Maev's mistress smoothed out the paper on her lap.

My dear daughter

,Her ladyship began,

It has been a long trip, and will have been an even longer one by the time this letter reaches you. I am glad to say that I arrived at port. However, I cannot say the same for the ship. We ran aground on a sand bar last night and in the morning we dragged in to the nearest port. The captain said she's badly damaged and may not sail again.

Can't say much for the inn. --I think I have gained an ailment in my travels, as I am in great pain and have been feeling rather weak. The doctor is uncertain as to what it may be; but he says that depending on what it is, I may not have long to live. I am sorry to bring you such bad news. I am sorry the letter is short. It is late I am ill and the innkeeper is grouchy. I hope this letter finds you well and in good care.

Do not bother to write back, as I do not currently know my location; not having been able to leave my room. I do not think I could receive letters anyway because Phelkas is a bear. I shall write again when I am well enough, and the pen is not so heavy. Give Wolvgard my love.

Your's Ever,
Father

Maev's blank white eyes teared up halfway through the letter and by the end of it she was sobbing. Her ladyship patted her gently (for she was fond of her maid) and left the girl alone with her sorrow...

Having read of her mission, Halden's spy awaited her chance to fulfill it.

Nat's boat arrived nearly a day earlier than it was expected. He had ordered the captain to press the oarsmen hard during the journey, offering rest and a bonus upon their arrival in Haven. The oarsmen had performed spectacularly. Twenty of king Halden's finest soldiers disembarked from the river ship, with Nat limping along behind them dressed in his soldier's coat with the knight's crest upon the sleeve. Lord Roupe, a black-haired young in his twenties, rode to the dock personally to greet the king's men. He was young for a lord, but well-suited to his job, and in his few years of service had become relatively well-liked by his subjects. The young man clasped Nat's hand eagerly in greeting. "Sir Nathan," he said, "Welcome to Haven. It's good to see you back, I remember the last time you spent time here, some years past, with your friend Sir Gavilan." Lord Roupe shifted awkwardly, having spoken before he recalled that Nat's friend was currently missing. "My father was lord of the city back then," he continued, attempting to shift the subject. "I recall he spoke very highly of you."

If Nat felt any awkwardness at the mention of Gav, he didn't allow it to show. He returned the Lord's handshake readily. "Thank you, Lord," he replied, with a completely business-like tone. His expression indicated urgency, and Lord Roupe knew at once that the knight needed transportation to the castle so that they could discuss the mission, of which Lord Roupe knew only a little. "I'm sure you're tired after your journey," said the Lord, not sincerely but as an excuse to be on their way. He glanced dubiously at Nat's leg. "Can you ride a horse, Sir?"

Nat shook his head. "I think it would be best if I didn't try. Can we take a carriage?"

The lord nodded. "Of course, sir." Silently he worried; was Sir Nathan truly recovered enough from his injury for such a difficult mission?

Lord Roupe sent for a carriage, and the two men rode together to the castle while Nat's soldiers marched visibly through the streets of the great city. Lord Roupe watched the people's faces as they saw the Caelin soldiers in their streets, and considered the consequences of bringing the soldiers in so publicly. "Sir," he said to Nathan, "With the Caelin soldiers in the city, rumors are going to spread. We won't be able to keep the Sea Flower's disappearance secret any longer. Once your warship leaves tomorrow the city will know that we're sending reinforcements after the prince."

"That's alright," said Nat absently, his thoughts focused elsewhere. "Now that we've arrived in Haven, other things are becoming more important than secrecy. Is the warship ready?"

"Yes, sir," said the duke. "She's anchored around the point, out of view of the city and her roads. We'll flag her in now, she should dock with the evening tide."

"Very good," said Nat. "See that she's loaded with everything she needs, and that the soldiers I've brought are on board first thing tomorrow for the departure. And I'd like to talk to Melin, once we've arrived at the castle."

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

Nat was shown to a private office, and Melin was sent for immediately. The other knight arrived swiftly. Melin was short, especially compared to Nat, and stocky in build. He was in his early forties, and his blond hair was thinning and darkening as he aged. His left cheek was scarred by a blade in his youth, and his torso bore many scars as well. His appearance was deceiving, for he was sturdy and well-muscled, and could move quick as a cat when it suited him. Nat looked up at the other man's entrance and smiled warmly and genuinely. Few knights of Caelin served the king, and Nat and Melin knew each other well. They greeted each other warmly, and since departing Caelin Nat was glad to be in the presence of someone who understood his sense of loss.

But there was little time for reminiscing and mourning; the two men quickly sat down and began to discuss the matter at hand.

"How many have you found?" Nat asked, his voice edged with concern.

"Three," replied Melin, regretfully. "Including the dog. There are few in Haven who are loyal, willing, and discrete to conscript. I could perhaps find one or two more, with a little time." He was clearly disappointed with his own performance, especially given how important the mission was.

Nat was indifferent; he understood that Melin's ability to find people who could help their mission depended on who happened to be in Haven at that time. "You only have until tonight," he said. "We must leave as soon as possible. But a small group is all we need, I think we will make do."

"Tonight it is. I'll make the arrangements," said Melin, casting that same doubtful look at Nat's injured leg as Lord Roupe had earlier, but honoring his fellow knight by saying nothing. If Nat couldn't ride, it would severely endanger the mission. Perhaps king Halden should have sent a more capable knight to travel to Aranos?

"Did you find a guide to take us to the meeting point?" Nat asked, oblivious to Melin's doubts.

Melin nodded. "Yes, we were fortunate. A suitable woman arrived in Haven yesterday. She's quite forceful, and insisted upon no horses and a dawn departure. Perhaps she misunderstood my request and believes we are venturing into more mountainous terrain, but I didn't want to risk revealing the location of the meeting place prematurely by correcting her. Either way, I think you'll find her quite troublesome." He was chuckling.

Nat simply nodded an acknowledgment. His lack of good humor was a sign of the stress and weariness he felt, and Melin recognized this. He began to worry for the other knight, thinking that perhaps more was wrong with the man than an injured leg. "Look, Nat," he said, "Why don't you rest for the afternoon? I can take care of the preparations, and Lord Roupe is personally overseeing the departure of the warship."

Nat looked up at Melin, suddenly aware how weary he must appear to others and mentally rebuking himself. "No," he said firmly, straightening his shoulders and consciously brightening his facial features. "I appreciate your offer, but this is too important. I need to follow every detail through to the end, or something could go wrong. Please make sure that our group is prepared to meet outside the city tonight, as planned."

Melin nodded deferentially.

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

Hester's wounds were tended carefully and without the use of magic. After she and Melin left the jail her staff was returned to her, and she was kept safe and hidden inside a comfortable house in Haven for the next several days. During this time Hester was well-fed, guarded (for her protection, in case the merchants found out she was alive), and it was strongly suggested that she remain inside the little house and its garden to avoid any accidental contact with the men who had captured her. It was publicly circulated that the trial had found her guilty of murder, and that she had been hanged.

Mid-afternoon on the fifth day of Hester's stay, Melin knocked upon the door. He first inquired as to Hester's health, and whether she felt up to the long journey. "We will be leaving tonight," he said. "There is a horse in the stable that's been provided for you. She's a calm, steady beast with a rounded back - I thought that would be easier on your old bones. Your guard can help you saddle her. I'll come tonight at eight o'clock or so and together we'll ride out of town to meet the others. All the provisions you should need are in your saddlebags."

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

Melin returned to Rosalyn's door the day following his initial visit. He explained that the leader of their party had at last arrived in the city, and that they would leave tonight after dark. "There is a horse stabled under your name in the Inn next door," he said, "We will meet at the copse of aspen trees beside the south road, about half a mile outside the city, at nine o'clock. We plan to make our way south with all possible speed to the town of Gespaldt, near your home. From there we ask you to guide us to a specific place in the forest where we must meet someone important. Our leader has a description of the location in writing, he will show it to you."

(OOC to Nemai: Since they think Lacchi is only a dog, Melin will simply come and get him when they're ready to leave. If you want to post, please assume that the cute doggie is well-fed and spoiled by the kitchen staff!)

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

The three pirate ships that had participated in the battle were anchored in the shelter of a secluded bay on the western Celynese coast. Their captains made their way to shore, where Havvad, servant to the prince of Aranos, awaited them. The captains wanted payment for their participation in the destruction of the Imlandris ship, and Havvad was present, as agreed upon, to provide that payment. It was strange that the full payment was being made after the job had been completed, and the pirate captains had been irritated with such a proposal. However, Havvad had indicated the benefits of destroying a vessel whose mission was to combat piracy in the seas between Celynese and Nacaea, and seasoned the deal with the promise that if any of the three pirate ships was destroyed during the battle that the share of the drowned ship would be divided amongst the others. The captains had reluctantly conceded to the delay, reasoning that, after all, it was easy work. In truth they had participated little in the battle, aside from luring the enemy into the trap and firing a few cannon rounds to prevent the Sea Flower from escaping.

The pirates, of course, were a problem. Nearly all of the prince's money had been spent purchasing, equipping, and furnishing the Aranos war vessels that had been sent to destroy the Sea Flower, and there was no money left to pay the pirates the agreed-upon sum for their participation. Furthermore, the prince did not desire that anyone in Aranos glean that he had secretly conceived and executed an attack on an Imlandris ship. The pirates would, of course, spread this information once they returned to port. Havvad's purpose on the beach today was, therefore, not to compensate the pirates for their work, but to alleviate these problems.

Havvad was flanked by eight imperial guards, and three small chests sat before him in the sand. The chests were empty, but because the pirates expected Havvad to bring their gold, to avoid premature anger or suspicion, Havvad wanted to appear as if he had that gold. He stood still as a statue, his hand on his sword and his eyes on the beach, as each of the captains came ashore. The captains were flanked by their first mates and one or two trusted sailors, and came to stand beside their respective chests. When all were assembled, Havvad addressed them together.

"Captains Gord, Ferallon, and Min, may the goddess bring winds to your sails." Havvad gave no bow with his greeting; a sign that he considered his status well above theirs. "His highness prince Inai'rafen, Lord of Selan, brother to the divine empress, sends me to inform you that he will not, at this time, provide the payment that was agreed upon for your aid in the destruction of the Imlandris ships. Furthermore, the prince commands that you and your crews are to depart Aranos seas for two months, during which time you will speak to no one of the battle you have witnessed. Upon your return the prince will provide each captain with the agreed payment."

There was an instant uproar amongst the pirates. They shouted, they swore, and they drew their swords. Between the three captains and their mates there were eleven pirates facing Havvad and his guards, and they clearly considered it a well-matched fight.

"Listen 'ere, Havvad, and listen close!" shouted captain Gord. "We be honorable pirates, and 'ave kept our part o' the bargain. We don't care none 'bout no orders from Rafen, he's got no command o'er us! You tell your prince that he's to give us our share, or - pirates we be - we'll steal it from 'im and run through any that gits in our way! Ho!"

"And what's this 'bout our leavin' Aranos?" added captain Min. "Who's he think 'e is? 'Tis prime trade season! We won't make no decent livin' hoverin' about Nacea this time o' year, I say!" He spat. "Hell with that!"

Havvad made no movement or emotional reaction to their shouting, and his guards remained equally still. "I'm sorry captains, but the prince will not alter his terms. There is no payment for you at this time."

"'ell there ain't!" Shouted captain Gord, kicking over an empty chest. "We'll skin you alive ere you get your prince to give us our gold!"

The eleven pirates shouted a battle cry, charging Havvad with their swords drawn. Havvad remained still, but his guards flew forward with amazing skill, decapitating the first pirate and disemboweling the second. Havvad watched their deaths passively, and removed his hand from his sword.

That was the signal. A rain of arrows fell upon the pirates that had landed on the shore, and balls of fire and oil, magically guided, catapulted at the three ships in the harbor. After two rounds, the ships were each aflame and their crews were diving into the water, surrendering their fates to the mercy of the falling arrows.

Havvad was thorough in his work. His guards dispatched the captains easily, and the archers continued to fire until every pirate that had not drowned or burned lay dead or dying upon the beach. The ships floated out to sea, sinking beneath the waves.

When it was done Havaad and his guards turned and walked back to the road, where their horses were waiting. Havvad's men remained to dispatch the remaining pirates, and dispose of the bodies in the sea. Havvad, his guards, and a contingent of mages and soldiers mounted their horses and rode eastward, where a ship awaited to take them back to Aranos.

(OOC to Crim: I assume Xeilla escapes :) Xeilla and Gav are both on Celynse, perhaps they could meet? Please steer Xeilla to a port town on the eastern coast of Celynese if yes, and Gav will somehow interact with her.)

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

The country of Aranos is ruled by an empress, named Yui'faei at her birth but raised to the divine with her ascension to the throne. The empress is believed to be touched by the goddess of the Aranos faith, such that a piece of the goddess's soul resides inside her body. This gives the empress her divinity, and as such she is revered, loved, and feared as a corporeal form of the goddess herself. Her beauty is spoken of as legendary, and she is considered so sacred that no mortal may look upon her. All of her servants are blind, often by choice for the honor of serving the deity. Aside from her servants, only the royalty of Aranos, those blessed and guided by the goddess herself, may hear her speak. She lives a long, chaste life, often hundreds of years, until the goddess blesses her with a vision of her successor. A baby girl will be born somewhere in the kingdom; this girl is brought to the empress and her family is raised to royalty. Fifteen years later the empress will die and the piece of the goddess's soul that resided in her will return to its whole. The goddess will then touch the new child, and create a new empress of Aranos. All royalty in Aranos are relatives of an empress, past or present, and children chosen as empress are often born from their families.

Yui'faei was born to a royal family not forty years ago; she has one older brother, Inai'rafen. Her parents were killed many years past, though her aunts and uncles remain to receive her guidance along with those families of previous empresses. Nineteen years ago the empress, in her divine voice, prophesied a warning to the royalty of Aranos:

The goddess weeps.
In Imlandris, one is born touched by the gods.
His blood will tear the land
Bringing death upon her People;
Only the tùathien will know him.

Mercy, mercy,
The goddess weeps.

The empress was quiet, and could not be compelled to repeat or explain her words. Rafen was present when the prophesy was given, and the words burned themselves into his mind. While others soon gave up attempting to discern its meaning, Rafen made it his purpose to find the person mentioned in this prophesy, and to prevent the deaths of the people that the prophesy alludes to.

It was the tùathien that led him to the answer. In the depths of a library in Imlandris, in a book that was very difficult to access, an ancient verse spoke that when time began and the peoples of Elumintir settled Nerandor, the kings of Imlandris were bound to the earth, and the tùathien was their guide. With the progress of time that power faded in the bloodlines of the kings, except when the gods chose to intervene. Rarely, one of the kings of Imlandris would be chosen to bear this gift, as his ancestors had in the past. Rafen knew not whom this tùathien might be, but nineteen years ago, at the same time the empress's prophesy was given, a prince of Imlandris was born. Palamir was the one he sought.

But during those nineteen years, while Rafen sought this threat to his country, he let his purpose consume his life so completely that he became disliked by his subjects, his family, and his empress. He failed as a lord, never at home and never performing the duties that would allow his lands and their peoples to prosper. His family thought him negligent, and his sister expressed her disappointment with his service, though she never stripped him of his duties or his holdings and seemed always to expect him to be greater than he was. This disappointment truly broke his heart. He bowed to her with his face upon the floor, weeping and begging her forgiveness, stating that his only purpose was to serve the goddess, and that his actions were motivated by what he believed in his heart to be in her service. But she gave him only silence, and his family scorned him.

And so he continued on in secret, searching for the man who would bring death to his country and believing it his life's purpose to save his country from this evil. When Rafen finally learned the identity of the man in the prophesy he rejoiced, believing that at last he would prove his worth to his empress and his family, and save his country from this foreign threat. He poured what few assets his lands provided him into the purchase of three warships, and together with the hired pirates sent them to destroy the Imlandris ships and to capture Palamir. He was successful.

Rafen waited in his home on the coast of Aranos for his warship, which sailed in stealth by night along the Strait of Melynas to deliver his prize.

(OOC to E'doa: Maev would be able to learn nothing of the fate of the ship or the prince, as the empress and her court know nothing. However, she might begin to glean that the empress and her family might, possibly, not be behind the attack. More soon!)

So. Here was the man who had asked to be guided to a 'specific location in the mountains'; who had come to her for expertise; who had recieved instructions.... and brought a horse. A horse! She had said 'no horses.' Explicitly told him to do more then not bring them, he was to forget bringing them. As in perish the thought of us ever needing horses. They're so useless where we're going you might as well not even bother to even mention it.

Granted they had a ways to go till they got to the mountains, much less any 'specific' location. All the same no horses were to be brought along. Firstly there were enough miles between themselves and the mountain that a good walk would easily and gently strengthen the weakest memebers of the party. That was vital. Rosy wasn't about to be carrying anyone up a mountain. If you were too weak you could stay below. In short: Being on the mounatain involved a lot of stamina and endurance. Walking created both.

Secondly, stamina and endurance bred a high metabolism. One needed a high metabolism to stay warm. A high metabolism required food ,though. Lots of it. So that was were the wafers and dried meat came in. Both were light weight, easily carried and very filling. She hoped he thought to have brought at least that much. Two pounds could last one person a month. Supplemented with hunting from mountain game, wafers and jerky could last ages before rotting.

--Forest or no forest he needn't have brought the horse. Those animals were notorious for being easily spooked; they were terrible under heavy snowfall, and required a great deal of extra provisions and jerky did fine for the trail all the same.-- She wasn't about to ride the beats. Oh, she could do it; she hated riding horses. She hated carriages. She detested boats. In short, any form of transportation that did not require her own two feet as the primary method of propulsion caused Rosealyn a great deal of physical discomfort.

Thanks but no thanks. Melin could keep his horse.

He needn't know that though. She would use it as a pack animal for now. She would leave it in a stable in Gespalt somewhere where it would be happily looked after till Melin came for it. As for herself, once her mission was over she would head right back to her little mountain cabin on the steep slopes of Arithymas. She had not been out of her mountain more then one full day and already she wanted to be back on it. Fool beaurocrats and their inability to follow instructions.

If they hadn't wanted her advice, why did they ask for it?

As if she needed further proof of is inability to follow instructions, he was insisting on a night departure. At the late hour of nine. Well, he would get away with it now, but once they were in the mountains it would have to be dawn. To travel in snow at the dead of night was to risk death of the most foolish kind: Game was harder to hunt. Preditors roamed the mountains. Temperatures were well beyond anyone's capacity to stay warm. The only way to stay warm outside, at night, was to hope the snow was deep enough to burrow into, and wet enough to pack. That way it would hold up till their body heat turned the inner layer into a thin sheet of ice and made the burrow into a cave. And then, they would still have to go without a fire, and there would have to be sentries in pairs. If the party was too small, there would be no sleep. If the party was too big they would have to split up in sections, and have a double sentry with a pair outside the burrows. Since there would be no fire, the shifts would have to change more frequently and rest would be scarce.

Lovely.

Well, it would not be her fault if his own independence caused him grief.

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

Maev pulled the covers up over the pillow and proceeded to tuck the hem under the feather-down mattress. She hummed a little tune as she did so. To the observer she looked very absorbed in her work; long years of practice, however, had made the job more a habit then anything. Maev's mind was not on her task.

She was mentally composing a response to the letter she had received. Only it wasn't to be sent to her father; it was to be sent to her cousin Arthur. Arty, as he was so affectionately called in the letters was only one of the names she wrote him by. If the letter was written by, or sent to 'father' then it was about the king or the prince. If it was sent to or from 'Cousin Arty' it was information to be relayed. And anything relating to mother had to be the empress and her court.

So it was that after breakfast, Maev had her mistress pen a letter:

Dear Cousin Arty,

I am afraid that this letter does not contain good news. I think you had better sit down before you keep reading. My heart breaks to tell you that my dear father has been stranded at some unkown port and caught very ill. I am afraid he might die.

I do not think that mother is aware of his plight. I thought I should write you first and seek your advice on whether to tell her or not. Other then that bad news, I am glad to say that I am well and so is wolvgard. Mistress is very good to me, and I am happy here. Life is peaceful.

I await your response with much anticipation.

Yours ever,
Maev

The letter would be sent out with the evening post.

Darius Ignat

It was four o’clock in the afternoon in Haven, and an old man had been murdered.

Darius Ignat looked at the shattered window through which the murderer had entered, the old man’s modest home and the his corpse, resting stiffly in its chair, chest crumpled by the blow of some hammer or mace. The room had been ransacked, the thief taking all he could before disappearing. It was an act of sickening cowardice.

And Darius knew. He knew where to find the culprit, one of the holes such a rat, or its friends would be skulking. He knew the inns, the dirty ones that attracted the scum of this town. It was like all the port towns he visited; filled with sailors, thieves and criminals. Darius hated it, but he knew that places like this were the frontline of his personal, hopeless crusade.

He spat out of the shattered window in disgust, before stepping out of the house.

He found the inn a few streets away. It was in one of the dirtier parts of Haven, where there sailors went once they got drunk, the part of town where the thieves and the prostitutes were. It was a dirty, dingy place poorly lit by tallow lamps.

Already the tavern was busy, its usual collection of scum already present. The barkeep looked up as Darius entered, and his eyes widened in alarm.

“What do you want?” he asked, nerves creeping into his voice as the rest of the tavern’s clientele suddenly became quiet and intensely interested in their drinks. Even though most of them had nothing to do with the crime Darius was investigating, the man could be indiscrimate as a hurricane.

“An old man was murdered in his house a few streets away,” Darius said, raising his voice. “I am here to find the murderer.”

There was quiet for a moment as Darius waited. In reality, those in the tavern could have gone against him and torn him to pieces, but the sheer force of his presence was enough to cow them. Sure, they could kill him easily, but the fact was that he could take two, maybe even three with them, and it could be them.

There. He saw it, a flicker of eye in his direction from one of the tavern’s customers. It was barely a movement at all, but it was enough. Darius could read body language like an expert when it came to guilt, and once he had the scent he was on it like a bloodhound.

Armoured boots clanking quietly on the taverns stone floor, Darius walked over to the person he had spotted and asked quietly; “Enjoying your drink?”

By now the tavern was so silent with terrified tension you could have heard a pin drop.

“Y-yeah,” the lanky haired youth stammered in reply. A stammer. A definite sign of nerves. But this teenager probably wasn’t the killer. He looked surly and poor, but not a murderer. Or at least probably not. Darius had seen some pretty unlikely candidates in his time.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Darius said. “Now, you look like you know something about that old man.”

“I don’t know nothing,” the boy replied automatically.

He yelped in terror as Darius’ gauntlet slammed down and grabbed the boy’s wrist.

“I think you do,” Darius said.

“Seriously, I dunno,” came the reply.

In an instant, Darius’ free hand was clenched around a finger. There was a swift motion, and a crack. The boy screamed and fell to the floor, clutching his broken finger. Darius leant down next to him, and said quietly; “I know you know something. Tell me now and it will be far easier on you.”

“Alright, alright,” the bow whimpered. “My mate James said he robbed a house. He lives in Randall Street, a rented place, third on the left. Please, let me go!”

Darius released his grip on the youth’s hand, before rising and leaving, murmuring his thanks for the barkeep’s time.

The man strode along the streets, looking for the place known as Randall Street. He found it quickly, a one way road, roughly cobbled, leading to what looked to be a square. Third on the left, third on the…there; a wooden house, a squat, single storey, single room place.

With a single kick, Darius smashed down the door, sending the flimsy, half rotten wood toppling to the ground. A young man, snoring on a dirty straw pallet sat bolt upright in fright. Darius grabbed him by the neck of his rough shirt, slamming him against the wall and looking him eye to eye.

“Are you James?” Darius growled.

“What? Yeah,” the boy whimpered.

“Did you break into a house last night?” Darius said.

“I did,” James replied, too scared to lie.

“Then you are under arrest for murder,” Darius replied, still keeping his voice at a low, steady snarl.

“What?” James said. “I just belted ‘im, I swear! I didn’t mean to kill ‘im, just shut ‘im up!”

“You stole, and you murdered,” Darius snarled. “You are under arrest.”

The boy protested, and suddenly tried to struggle, before Darius slammed him against the wall again, dazing him.

“You’re coming with me,” Darius said, bodily dragging him through door, nearly chocking him on the collar of his shirt.

As he walked through the streets, his charge stumbling dazedly along behind him, Darius made an announcement.

“People of Haven,” Darius said as he paraded the boy through the streets. “I have with a thief and a murderer.”

This caught attention, and suddenly everyone was looking.

“For simple greed,” Darius continued. “He broke into an old man’s house, killed him where he sat before taking all he could carry.”

There was a jeer from the crowd, and a gobbet of mud flew from the crowd to splatter onto James.

“This scum is the worst of criminals,” Darius said, still dragging the thief towards the town’s gaol. “And he must be punished!”

By the time he reached the gaol, a small mob was following him, baying for James’ blood. The pair of guards stationed at the gate looked at the mob Darius was leading and paled; they’d come to know Darius’ visits as a regular occurrence, and like professional musicians encountering an amateur far more enthusiastic then themselves, he made them uncomfortable.

“I’ve a thief and a murderer with me,” Darius said, shaking James roughly.

“Hang him!” a few members of the mob shouted.

The two guards looked at the mob, looked at Darius, who was standing with a faint, satisfied smile, before nodding and saying; “You’d better come in.”

The enthusiastic arrests of the paladin Darius attracted attention in the court at Haven; though not of a positive kind. His recklessness and public boldness incited mobs and riots, and as often as not resulted in the inability of the law to prosecute the prisoners he brought for trial. So, when Darius arrived at the city jail with a mob at his heels, Darius himself was brought inside and bound by the city watch, and then held in a cell adjacent to the other prisoner.

City officials and Imlandris nobles discussed what to do with the errant paladin. He was not a healthy man, and all agreed that it was not in anyone's best interest, including Darius's, for him to continue arresting citizens of the city. But where could they send him that he might be a productive force, instead of a chaotic one? Who would take responsibility for him? No one had an answer. So he sat in one of Haven's jail cells for a day and a half, well-treated and much speculated over, while they mulled over their possible options.

Nat returned to his office after several hasty, final meetings with Lord Roupe and the captain of the warship. The afternoon was growing late, and Melin was still out in the city arranging their departure. A silver envelope lay on Nat's desk, with a crescent moon sketched upon the front. It caught his eye instantly, and Nat stared at it, pulling from his left coat pocket an identical envelope given to him by the king before he had departed Caelin Tal. "You will have help on your journey," king Halden had said. "Know that your path is always watched, and that powerful forces will come to aid you, when and if they are needed. Palamir's fate is important to more in this world than my own heart, and this kingdom's future. Look for this sign; by this will you know your allies." The king had revealed no more information, though Nat had pressed him. The envelope given to Nat by Halden contained the location of a meeting place in the wilderness that lay between Imlandris and Aranos, where they would be meeting someone who would help them. What guidance would this new message provide? Nat tore the envelope open.

The paladin, Darius, must accompany you to Aranos.

That was it? Nat turned the message over, thinking to find something more, but there was nothing. Without hesitation, he called a page into his office and sent the boy to fetch Melin. Why a paladin? Nat generally disliked paladins, for he had never met one with a lick of humility or common sense. But he forced this preconception aside, telling himself that he must trust in the king's guidance and in this unknown ally who was aiding them. If Nat must bring a paladin to Aranos in order to save the prince, then he would.

Time was growing short. Nat spent the next hour packing his saddlebags, and ensuring that all of the plans he had conceived were well-laid. Melin appeared as the sun was setting. Nat informed his fellow knight that a paladin named Darius was to accompany their party, and asked whether it might be possible to locate the man in the three hours before their departure.

Melin was overtly shocked, and the obvious consequence of such an addition to their party jumped out in his mind. Consequently, he burst out laughing. "Pardon my reaction, sir Nathan, but are you completely mad? A paladin? And of all of them, Darius?"

Nat was confused by Melin's reaction. "What's wrong? I realize a paladin is less than ideal, but surely it can't be that bad. Who is this Darius?"

Melin stilled his laughter as best he could. "It's just..." Melin thought how best to explain, and spoke seriously this time. "Darius, sir, is incorrigible, and a poor paladin at best, arresting men left and right and raising mobs in his shouts for justice. He isn't right in his mind. The thought of him together with a witch, sir, is ridiculous! He is likely to try to run her through if he learns what she is, and she's likely to skin him alive for his arrogance. We can't possibly keep them from killing each other!"

Nat closed his eyes for a moment, and sighed. He imagined a raving paladin attempting to arrest or perform his own justice on the witch, while she dangled him in midair and threatened to scalp him. A laugh escaped him, and the stress of the day rolled off his shoulders as he resigned himself to fate. "The gods really have cursed us, haven't they?" His eyes twinkled with amusement, and he shared a grin with Melin.

Melin, seeing in Nat's expression that bringing Darius had not been Nat's choice, but a necessity, considered an alternative. "Perhaps we can find another paladin? There are several in the city, much more reasonable men by reputation..."

"No," Nat's tone was confident; the message had clearly stated that Darius was the one they must bring. "This Darius is special somehow, and we need him. We will do what we can to prevent the inevitable; or, at least delay it for a little while. Speak with Hester before she meets the paladin, and ask her not to expound upon her adventures with the Meigian merchants within range of Darius' hearing. Perhaps it would also be wise to ask her not to kill him, at least until the prince is returned to Imlandris. I will speak with Darius as well." Nat nodded, and considered the matter settled. "Melin, you clearly know of this paladin, do you also know where we can find him at this hour?"

Melin grumbled a few disapproving words under his breath, but made no audible objection to a situation that he obviously could not change. "Yes," he answered grimly. "He's in the city jail. They locked him up two nights ago for causing another mob, but no one can decide what to do with him."

"Good," said Nat. "We'll fetch him on the way, and bring him to the meeting place with us tonight."

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

His lordship, the object of Maev's mistress's affections, appeared at their door the same evening that Maev received the message from Arthur. He bowed to her ladyship, and requested an audience with her on business of the empress's court. Maev, of course, was in attendance, along with several of his lordship's men. His lordship discussed at length with her ladyship the virtues of opportunity, and the importance of finding his own place in the future of the empire. He was a second cousin to the royal family, and he had been called upon to serve a member of the court. The request had suggested that he bring what loyal friends and family he had, and he had thought at once of her ladyship. His lordship asked, with much grace and eagerness, if her ladyship and her most loyal servant would be willing to accompany him eastward to the desert, for a time, and serve the empress's court at his side.

(OOC: In case that was confusing, they're not going -to- the empress's court, but serving a member of the court.)

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

(OOC: Arthur and Gav are waiting on a post from Xeilla)

Melin and Nat left the castle at Haven early that night, in secret. Nat slipped out a side entrance, dressed in traveling clothes unlike a style he would normally wear and hunched to appear much shorter. He was neither noticed nor followed, and as far as everyone in the castle believed he was leaving tomorrow morning on the warship in the harbor with the soldiers he had brought from Caelin Tal. Nat walked down the city streets in the dark, the cool night air allowing him to keep the hood of his cloak about his face. Not far from the castle lay an Inn with a stable, where Melin had stabled his horse. Nat quickly saddled his mount and headed to the south gate.

***

(OOC to Col Mustard: In the interest of moving things forward I'm assuming that Darius comes along, but if I make any poor assumptions please let me know and we'll figure out an edit that works better!)

Melin went to the city jail with orders from Lord Roupe to release the paladin, Darius, into the knight's custody. The paladin's hands were bound, and he was instructed by the members of the city watch to maintain complete silence once outside the jail or his mouth would be gagged. Melin greeted Darius politely when he met the man, and said that he was to escort the paladin out of the city at the request of Lord Roupe. He asked, rather than threatened, that the paladin remain quiet as they left, so as not to disturb the citizens of Haven so late at night. He also stated that the paladin was to be freed and the situation fully explained to him once he was outside the city gates. If Darius was amenable to the arrangement he was to come with Melin, if not he was to remain in the cell until they could find another solution.

They rode on horseback, for Melin had brought Darius a horse with full saddlebags behind its saddle, though Darius's horse was roped to Melin's. They did not quite leave the city, and instead met Nathan near the southern gate. Melin and Nat had agreed that if Nat retrieved Darius from the jail it might arouse suspicions of his leaving the city, which they had endeavored to keep secret, and so Melin left Darius with Nat and went to find Lacchi and Hester.

Nat took Darius's horse's lead and tied it to his own saddle, and together they road out the city's southern gate. Oddly, no one was watching the road from atop the gate, and the area was completely quiet. They rode until they were a ways outside the city, and then Nat halted and untied Darius's bonds.

"Darius," he said, considering his words most carefully. "I am Sir Nathan. Sir Melin and I are Knights of Caelin, and we are on a mission for the king. Please forgive the manner in which we removed you from the city, but our purpose is a secret one, and it was necessary to present our request of you in haste and in private. It is true that you are free and may now go which way you choose, though Lord Roupe and his court ask that you do not return to the city. You have caused them much trouble here, creating much chaos and hindering the city watch from conducting their duties. But I do not mean to diminish your intent, which is an honorable one, especially as we need your help. Imlandris is under threat, and we are leaving now on a mission to Aranos on orders from the king. I was told that the paladin Darius was essential to our cause, though for what reason I do not know. But I believe that at some time on our journey we will need your help most urgently, and so I ask that you accompany us to Aranos. I ride now to meet the rest of our party, and once we are together I will explain the full nature of our mission. What say you, paladin; will you come with me and serve your king for the good of Imlandris?"

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

Once Sir Melin had delivered Darius to Nathan he returned to the castle. He left his horse tied outside the stable and went inside the kitchens, where he found Lacchi in the care of the castle's cooks. He patted the dog fondly and scratched his belly. "Are you ready, friend? The Knights of Caelin need a dog to serve them, and they tell us you're the best. Our group is waiting, and we leave tonight. Come on, then, let's be off!" Melin indicated enthusiastically for Lacchi to follow, and led the dog out into the courtyard. Lacchi seemed to be an intelligent dog, and Melin was pleased that he did not need the leash he had brought. He mounted his horse and led the way through the city streets to the house where Hester stayed.

"Hester," he said, greeting the witch with a short bow. He saddled her horse for her, and helped her mount it. The horse they'd chosen for the witch was mellow and smart, and it followed Melin's mount easily through the city streets. "I am glad your are coming with us, Hester," he said, as they rode. "But I must tell you before we meet the others, that some amongst are party are likely to be especially unfriendly to witches. If they knew your history, I am certain they would try to kill you. I and my companion will do what we can to prevent this from happening, and I've no doubt that you can defend yourself effectively, but I would encourage you not to speak too boldly of your nature and your history. And, if you would..." Melin hesitated, unsure how to phrase his words. "Please don't kill them." He flashed a wry smile at Hester. "You can consider it a personal favor to me, if you like. Once which I will do my best to repay. But the kingdom needs everyone among us, whether they are self-righteous assess, defiant maidens, or a murdering witch." Again, he was smiling.

(OOC: Ok, please reply! You can assume, if you like, that we continue on to the meeting place south of the city. Rose will meet us there.)

Housebound for five days, three of which were spent wrapped up in bed, Old Mother Hester could do little but stare at the panelled ceiling over head. She spent the entire time locked up inside her own mind, replaying the events out on the Troll Country, cursing the bewitched blue ribbon which had caught her unawares, and damning the merchants who dragged her across the world to be strung up.

Now things had gone from bad to worse. In return for life she’d been enlisted into some escapade, one which would probably end with her death anyway. Would she ever get home? Her thoughts drifted to the Marionette. She saw it watching the open sky of home with its endless obsidian eyes. Something like guilt squirmed in her stomach. She crinkled her nose and forced it out. Pah!

The house which Melin had bound her to was owned by a bassoon player and his wife. Each morning Hester would wake to the deep moans of a bassoon reverberating through the floor. “Damn you Melin.” She glared at the ceiling, the poor thing suffering in the knight’s place.

Pies. That’s what the wife did. Breakfast, lunch, supper, elevenses; for every damn meal invented she would appear in Hester’s doorframe holding a fresh pie. At first Hester had managed to dump them into the locker at her bedside but then the smell began arousing the wife’s suspicions. On the fourth morning Hester finally moved from the bed, finding her stiff old limbs were all the better for it. She opening the bedroom window and with great huffing and puffing managed to shift the locker out, along with its contents of pies. Hester heard the crash of wood on the street below. She didn’t bother looking, instead climbing back into bed. If the bassoon player or his wife knew they never mentioned it to the churlish old dwarf.

On the fifth night the bassoon player and his wife wouldn’t allow her to rest knowing that Melin would be arriving to collect her. She was sitting by the hearth in a large armchair, gazing into its red belly and glowering at the incessant chatter of her hosts behind her. The bassoon players voice may as well as been his instrument; it was so deep, like listening to someone speak into a large pot. Her lips twisted into a snarl. Her conviction that Melin had sent her here on purpose was growing stronger.

“A pie Old Mother?” The wife peered round the chair at Hester. Hester’s eyes flicked and met hers.

There was a soft rap on the door. “Oh he’s here!” The wife disappeared before Hester could catch her with the full force of her eyes. Damn Melin. She slipped from the chair and lumbered out into the hall, where the door was guarded by her hosts, both grinning down warmly at her.

“It was lovely to have you Old Mother.” The wife smiled and held out a brown paper bag. It smelt suspiciously of pie. Hester accepted the departing gift reluctantly. The bassoon player held out a carpet bag to Melin, another gift from themselves. “Goodbye now, Old Mother,” he boomed, and nodded in a bow. She ignored him and stepped out into the cool night. The bassoon player and his wife closed the door behind her, a little too quickly for Hester’s liking.

“Hester,” Melin said, greeting her with a short bow. She held up her finger in a gesture for silence. She took the carpet bag down from her mount where Melin had sat it, and tipped its contents out onto the doorstep of the house. Out tumbled a cloud of fresh clothes, all in children’s sizes that the wife had bought for Hester one morning. She was about to dump the bag too but reconsidered, taking a liking to its funny floral patterns. Then she took the brown paper bag and opened it. She wretched at the smell of cooked pie which collided with her nose. She reached in and pulled out two large pies, one steak and one chicken. They were about to suffer the same treatment when she saw the dog that accompanied Melin and the horses.

“Who’s that?” Melin explained Lacchi and Hester raised an eyebrow. She shrugged it off and tossed both the pies onto the doorstep. “Well, it doesn’t look like the pie eating type. And even if you are,” she looked at the dog, “They taste like tree bark. The nasty kind.” With that she allowed Melin to help her mount her horse, making sure to kick him as much as possible as he did.

"I am glad your are coming with us, Hester," he said, as they rode.

“Well that makes one of us,” she muttered darkly out of earshot.

She listened to him and watched him smile as though the entire thing was a joke. It’d better not be. She flexed her hands around the horses reigns, substituting them for Melin’s neck.

“Who ever said anything about me being a witch?” She chuckled loudly, the hideous sound jumping back off the walls of the narrow street. There were a dozen Old Mother Hester’s all at once. “You listened to those merchant’s too much Melin. I ain’t never killed nobody. Cross. My. Heart.” She leaned off the mount towards Melin, dragging a large X over her heart with one long fingernail. She slid back into the saddle and cackled.

“There’s a first time for everything though.” She grinned wickedly at Melin, revealing rows of crooked, sharpened teeth.

They had left the city now, trotting towards a small silhouetted group beneath the moon. She sighed aloud. This is it. The beginning of never making it home.

Veyana le Fay was moving through the city aimlessly, looking for something to occupy her curiosity when a man moving quickly, and with purpose passed her by. Veyana smiled happily and ducked into an alley, only to emerge a few moments later as a brightly colored bird, taking wing. She followed the man as he went about the city.

What on earth could be this man's purpose, to go to so many places? Veyana knew he was a Knight, that much was easy to tell just by looking. So was it King's business then? Veyana wondered. She supposed she could ask him, but she doubted that she'd get a straight answer. So, for the moment, she kept her winged form, and spied on him as he went about his odd business.

Things got odder when a paladin joined him, bound for some reason. Veyana had seen this one before. A rabble-raiser in town. So where was the Knight taking him? She watched on, chirping curiously in her bird-form.

He was given to another Knight, and then exited the city. Veyana flew as close as she dared, and used a tiny amount of wind magic to keep herself gliding, so that the beating of her wings wouldn't cause noise. It would be just a little odd for such an obvious day-time bird to be flying at night.

Sir Nathan...and Sir Melin. That was the one she had been following. And it was king's business! She had to keep herself from a victory chirp. The words about the mission, whatever it was, intrigued Veyana. She wondered how far away this meeting place was, and who else was going to be there. She was practically overflowing with curiosity.

Heaven. This was what all these people spoke of when they spoke of heaven. Or hell? No, Lacchi was fairly certain that they never said that when telling someone about the wondrousness of where they were. There might have been other words that he couldn't remember, but hell definitely wasn't one of them. A kitchen full of friendly faces, a stern head cook who didn't like animals in her kitchen but couldn't say no to a sweetly mournful gaze no matter how hard she tried. So long as he kept out from under the staff's feet and stayed by the door, so long as not one of his paws so much as stuck a claw over that threshold, he could beg and plead to his stomach's content. And when he wasn't hungry, he could wheedle a long scritch from one of the older men or play chase with the children of the staff after they'd finished their chores.

He liked it here. It was a hound's paradise. To live near a kitchen, be given all the scraps he could eat, have children to play with when he felt like being a puppy and have a nice fire to lie beside at night. Lacchi was pleased enough not to wander beyond the perimeter set by the lady, Kristen , before she'd turned him loose. And she was probably surprised at how well he'd followed her spoken and visual cues, but then, he was a messenger hound, and they were all bred to have above average intelligence. Obviously, they were simply smarter than anyone ever bothered to give them credit for being. Especially the sweet black and white mutt who'd charmed his way into all their hearts, just for a crust of bread. Well, he really liked bread...

He'd come across another hound or two. They were purebred hunters, keen of sense and highly picky about just who they interacted with. They'd greeted him with snarls when he tried to be friendly, then they simply ignored him when he started to snarl back. Ah well, he still had the good food. And he was fully recovered from his long run by the time the older man came down to retrieve him.

In fact, he was so recovered that he'd managed, through force of will, long exposure and a wearing away of the head cook's stern manner, to win a place beside the giant kitchen hearth. Where it just so happened that a roast was being cut up and divvied out amongst the staff now that the Lord's dinner was finished. How he'd managed was a secret he would never tell anyone, not ever! It was rather shameful really, at least, by human standards. By dog standards, it was brilliant.

Still, he greeted the man with a friendly wave of his tail and a quick polishing off of his dinner. Then he wandered over and luxuriated in the greeting he was given in return. The thumping palm against his ribs made him stumble and roll onto his back to beg for a belly scratch, which he was given. So that when Melin mentioned the Knights of Caelin needing a dog, that proud hound he was speaking of happened to be lying on his back, paws flopping in the air with his tongue hanging out and his eyes half closed in bliss. But he reacted with an eager bark and a sudden twist to spring into the air as the man moved back. His plumed tail was nearly a blur as it attempted, and failed, to show his eagerness to be going.

Of course, as soon as he realised what going meant, Lacchi's exuberance slackened and he turned at the doorway to the kitchen to give one reluctant farewell to the staff who had looked after him so well, and to that giant piece of meat with all its bones intact and just waiting for him. But he was off for more excitement now, and excitement meant giving up the certainty of full bellies and tasty food. And he couldn't have both all the time.

So, he whuffled a goodbye and then trotted after the man, keeping at his heels and then waiting as he mounted. A dog learned quickly that it was much safer to be respectful of a horse's personal space than to keep close to the master. A dog learned that very quickly indeed. So he kept his distance, but he followed along meekly enough, out to the side, where the man could keep an eye on him. And where the horse couldn't kick him. It was only as they were starting past the halfway mark into Haven that he realised something was amiss. He could have sworn he'd heard discussions about a large group of people heading off on some giant ship or some such rumour. He could also have sworn, though at the moment it seemed unlikely, that he'd heard mention of the Knights of Caelin when this large party was being spoken of. But here was a man telling him that the Knights of Caelin needed him now, and the warship wasn't heading out until the morning.

It did not take a whole night to reach the wharves from Roupe's castle. Not even had this man been walking.

Lacchi paused to scratch at an ear wildly as he tried to think things over. He did not want to be caught anywhere near a ship, if that truly was where they were going, but he could start the panic attack later. What he really wanted to know, was what they were doing wandering around at night, in the dark, with a horse, if they were going to be getting on a ship come the morrow. No, something wasn't adding up. But Lacchi had never been very strong in math.

So, rather then avoid whatever was coming, now that he'd thought it over the cursed thief stood and shook out his coat and then went racing after the horse that was carrying away his newest master. He caught up to it in a matter of moments, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth and tail waving behind him happily. Not knowing what was in store was definitely an adventure, and since this man didn't seem too worked up about it, Lacchi hoped he might be able to trust that it wasn't something terrible.

And it wasn't.

It was just a house with a deep-voiced man and a fluttery housewife who seemed quite relieved to have the man come knocking at their door so late. Which was strange, but not so strange as the... creature... that hobbled out between them after a few unexchanged pleasantries were attempted. Lacchi was watching the whole fiasco from beside the knight's horse, lying down where he'd been told to wait and perking his ears up at the crinkling of thin paper. That meant food. He was sure of it. Maybe the old lady wouldn't mind sharing? He dusted the street with his tail as the man and little woman came back towards him and then he stood and followed the lady about. He was pleasantly surprised to find that he was more than half her height, which would make sneaking food away a little easier. Well, not the sneaking part, but the getting it certainly would be less challenging. Or so he supposed.

With his head down and his tail ticking back and forth in a hesitant greed, he trailed after the two when they went to pick up the old lady's horse. And he crept closer when she began dumping her carpet bag full of clothes on the ground. Which seemed a strange thing to do, but never mind that, he could smell those meat pies, he could. He came even closer as she started to pull them out, and never once let his gaze stray from them in hopeful willfulness when she paused to ask Melin about him. He didn't care what he told her, there wasn't anything incriminating in the man's knowledge, nothing that would give him away for what he truly was. And all he wanted were those pies.

Which she then threw at the door and sent them to splattering on the stone beneath it. For a moment, all he could do was continue staring, then he rushed forward and had his tongue out for a taste. Tree bark? He paused and lifted his head, tilting it to one side over his shoulder. How could pies taste like tree bark? But before he could decide if he wanted to find out, they were leaving and he was being ordered to follow. So, with one last forlorn sigh and the realisation that his fears of inadequate amounts of food were beginning already, he ran towards them and smoothly leapt the low fence keeping in their garden. And since no one seemed to be watching him, he was polite enough to keep himself a few inches off the plants as he surged across the salad plot and over the fence on the other side and then kept on running, all four paws on the ground again, the faint surge of power dying away almost before it had come.

They weren't going quickly. The little lady who didn't like pies wasn't very good at riding. Then again, neither was Lacchi, so it wasn't as though he was much of a judge. So he trotted lazily along beside the horses and listened with one ear to their conversation. And a more awkward one he wasn't sure he'd ever heard! With the other, he listened out for any danger. Because they weren't continuing towards the ships, but they were obviously ready to travel. And at night, that meant they were trying to be secret, now didn't it? He couldn't help but wonder why, though he supposed that everything would be explained to them all eventually, and he'd learn then, unless, of course, they'd explained it all to everyone else already and left him out because he was just a dog. Well, if that was the case, he hoped someone else would have some questions and he'd be able to piece together tha circumstances through the back and forth of the answers and new questions.

They rode in silence for a time, the little lady's, Hester's, last comment having been one that generally did take the desire to talk out of a person. He didn't blame the older knight. Not one bit.

Soon, however, he could hear horses up ahead, and scented them and their riders on the wind. He growled a short warning, lowering his head, uncertain if this was the group they were supposed to be meeting or if it was another they might prefer to avoid. As they came closer, his growl grew louder, but he didn't bark. Barking would give them away.

OOC: No problems here, Riele, though I'll admit I didn't expect Darius to get arrested! Still, no problems there.

Darius glowered in his cell, sitting at the wooden bench and feeling like a caged animal. One and half days he had spent here, one and a half days doing nothing but sit here to rot like those he had placed behind bars. Indeed, those who he had originally shared a cell with weren’t too happy with his presence; even though he’d put none of them behind bars, as far as he could remember at least, a lawbringer was never going to be popular.

But he’d survived, thanks to the sensible precaution the guards had taken of locking him up alone. If he hadn’t been alone, there was no knowing what would happen.

He couldn’t believe it though. Him, of all people, imprisoned simply for doing a better job than the local watch. He couldn’t control the damn mobs, nobody could. What was wrong with the people here anyway? He made a scene of the arrests, true, but in other towns it had been enough simply to guarantee the jailing of anybody he arrested. But here there was a full scale riot when people seemed to gather together in any number. Hell, he’d even arrested the worst looters from any riots, but the guard seemed to ignore this. They were as lazy and corrupt as the rest of this damnable town.

Darius looked up as the door to his cell opened, surprised. It was not one of the two mealtimes, and he’d have no visitors. Instead it was a guard, a thick rope held in his hands.

“You, Ignat,” the guard said abruptly. “Hands in front of you.”

Darius did as ordered, still curious as to what was going on as he his wrists were bound. He was marched through the prison, ignoring the jeers and catcalls of the other inmates, before he was taken outside.

There two men were waiting for him, wearing armour, and carrying what looked to be travelling supplies. A few words were exchanged between one of them and the guard, before the watchman left.

“A pleasure to meet you, Darius,” the man said. “I am Sir Melin, a knight in the service of Caelin.”

“An honour sir,” Darius said. “Though I’ll admit I’m confused as to what you’re doing releasing me.”

“There’s been a mission that you’ve been picked for,” Melin said. “I’ll have to explain later, but for now we’re meeting up with a friend of mine, and we can explain later. Though you must remain silent; this mission is a secretive one and if we’re discovered then there’ll be trouble.”

Darius thought for a moment, before nodding.

“Lead on, Sir Melin.”

Still tied up, Darius followed the night to a horse, laden with heavy saddlebags. Darius clambered aboard carefully, minding his bound hands, before climbing onto the horse. They walked through the town in silence, the streets empty except for a few secretive passers by, leaving Darius secretly wandering how many of those were thieves.

They reached a road that led to Haven’s south gate, and there another man was waiting. He quickly introduced himself as Nat, another knight, before Melin said he had to leave, to meet with pick up some others.

Nat clicked his heels into his horse flanks, and trotted the animal down the street and through the gate, Darius’ own roped up animal following him behind.

Once out of the town, Nat untied the paladin, and as they dismounted, explained the situation to Darius. That he was to be freed was a pleasant surprise, though he couldn’t help feel somewhat rebuffed that the lords of this town disliked his presence. Some people simply didn’t know what was good for them.

So, a kidnapping of the prince? That was a worthy cause to follow, and seeing as he wasn’t welcome in Haven any more then he may as well joins these men.

“Very well, sir Nat, I shall join you,” Darius said.

Realising the essentials, he quickly checked the saddlebags. Two of them, filled with salted meat and wafery biscuits that formed a reliable, solid staple of any experienced traveller’s diet. And, perhaps more importantly, his armour, blade and shield. Realising that he probably wouldn’t have time to put on the entire set before the others Melin had gone to fetch would arrive, Darius lifted out his blade and breastplate, which he quickly buckled to his belt and strapped to his torso. This was all he really needed; a sword and armour, and with those he could take on the world.

It would be nice to do something that, he felt, would make a tangible difference.

Rose was at the copse of aspen trees located a half-mile outside the city at exactly nine o' clock. She was fond of punctuality; knowing the importance of time from long experience of travel. So it was that she was not far behind Nat. She stood, a massive bulk of flesh and bones, in a dark green dress combined with the large brown body of the horse which she had brought along.

Or rather, which Melin had offered contrary to her instructions.

She had more then half a mind to give him a talking to. She wanted to meet the leader first. Perhaps there would be a sensible explanation for the deviation. At anyrate she would not be able to decide what the best tack was until she had met the group. There were different ways of dealing with different people and Rose faired markedly better at some then others.

Though if she had known of Darius and Hester she would not have worried. (And perhaps Nat ought to have...)

She wasn't called Flinty-Lynn for nothing.

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

Her ladyship was more then delighted by her beloved's request. She was both touched by his thoughtfulness and honored by his invitation. Maev also was delighted, for the change of pace suited her. So even though it might mean becomming blind, her ladyship accepted the offer. They would indeed join him in his service to one of the higher nobles.

The minimum necessities were packed; the appropriate letters of notice were sent and Maev, Wolvgard and Lady Elynn were on their way with the duke.

(Do apologize for the shortness of this.)

Sir Nathan dismounted beneath the aspen trees, allowing his horse to graze in the moonlit spring grass beneath their feet. Rosalyn arrived first; he greeted her and introduced himself and Darius, and they waited in silence for the others to arrive, listening to the echoes of the crickets in the grass. Melin led Hester and Lacchi within sight some minutes later, and introductions were made again. Nat looked at each of companions with a hard expression, measuring their strength, and wondering what part each of these strangers was fated to play so that the prince might return home. He confessed to himself that he could not see where such a fate might take him, or how it led to Palamir. But there was a force at work outside himself, this fate that guided them, and upon sight of his companions he felt that a piece of that fate lock into place. Nat's resolve strengthened, and he found a growing trust within him for this path he had been set upon; a faith in something outside himself that he did not understand.

"You know a little of why we are here," he began, meeting each of the others' eyes in turn. "Now, I will reveal the rest. Seven weeks ago, three of the king's warships set sail to the south. As many of you who have lived in Haven know, Celynese pirates threaten trade and ships between Imlandris, Nacaea, and Aranos each year. Our Nacaean allies want for wheat and wool, and the towns along our southwestern border suffer poverty because they can neither trade their goods, nor receive any in return. Raids on coastal towns are spreading northward into Imlandris, and pirate raiders are growing bolder with each season. Seeing this and fearing for the safety of his people, King Halden sent forth three warships upon the first spring tides this year to protect the tradeships and their passengers as they sailed from Haven to Nacaea. No such force has been sent against the pirates in the history of kings, but their numbers have never before grown to be so many. The king ordered the captains of his ships to drive the pirates from the seas, cull their numbers, and humble their might, allowing them to recall their place as scavengers."

"The ships he sent were the Foam Rider, the Glass Lady, and the Seaflower. In good faith King Halden crewed the ships with soldiers from his navy, providing Knights of Caelin to lead them. The prince, Palamir, rode with those aboard the Seaflower, for Palamir said that his heart was with his people, and he would protect them from their enemy. Thousands came to the city, I'm told, when the ships departed Haven, and cast so many flowers into the harbor that the wakes of the ships were white in the glimmer of the sun."

"All seemed well, for a time. Until five days past, when a message arrived by bird in Haven from the wizard on board the Seaflower. The message was an urgent sending, and spoke of an attack upon the ships. It was unfinished, and no further messages were sent."

Nat paused for a moment, allowing the thoughts of his audience to form their questions.

"The possibilities are many," he continued. "But pirates, however numerous or bold, are neither powerful nor organized. They do not ally with each other, nor do they captain ships that rival the might of Imlandris warships. Even three enemy ships, should they happen to find so many that would ally with one another, would be no match for our warships."

"And what if our ships were merely wounded? Then it is likely they would limp to Nacaea, and the nearest port. But that is only a few days' sail, and five days have passed. An injured ship would perhaps take longer to sail such a distance, and perhaps it's true, and our mission leaves too soon. But, consider this: What force could injure three warships so greatly that they could not sail to an allied land and send word after five days? Pirates? Or Aranos warships."

He paused again, this time to allow their thoughts to settle. All of the king's advisors had reached the same conclusion. Whatever had happened, they should have had word by now.

"It was decided that a fourth ship be sent to seek the Seaflower. You saw her today in Haven's bay; Lord Roupe is outfitting her with crew and soldiers for the journey south. I brought with me from Caelin a regiment of knights, and it was publicized amongst all that I would travel with them aboard the ship. Rumors are already spreading throughout the city about the fate of our three warships, and of Palamir. A man much alike myself in height and build will board the ship at dawn tomorrow with the regiment, and they will sail south upon the morning tide to seek the prince."

"But, we believe they will find nothing. They are sent to search, but if the ships have been attacked by Aranos then any survivors are now prisoners. Thus," Nat smiled deviously, "We allow the Aranos spies in Haven to believe that a single ship, with the king's best men, is sent to seek our missing warships. In reality, the king's best men ride south along the road towards the border, where they will cross in secret and strive to free whatever prisoners were taken. The ship will wait offshore for our message, and sail in to shore once we have discovered what happened to our ships and rescued any that survive."

"So it is, we ride south with all speed. Once we arrive in the southern woods, Miss Rosalyn has agreed to guide us to a place where we are to meet another guide - one who will bring us across the border without attracting the notice of Aranos and their wizards. We have other allies on our journey, and though it is not my place to reveal all to you, know that the fate of Palamir is important to more than the line of kings in our realm, but to the world itself. The king spoke as much to me ere I left Caelin Tal, but all of the knights of Caelin know this secret to be true."

"It has been made clear to Melin and myself that each of you has your part to play in this journey, though we do not yet know what that may be. Know well that you risk your lives, and that Melin and I will protect you with ours; for in you lies hope for the safe return of the prince." Melin met Nat's eyes, his expression steadfast and unwavering in his agreement with Nat's words.

Nat lifted his horse's head from the grass, and mounted the animal from the ground. Though his cane was strapped to his saddlebags the knight's movements were fluid and easy; Nat showed no pain or sign of injury despite placing his full weight upon his leg. Melin smirked at Nat's deception; after all, who would look for a badly injured knight to ride out of town the night before he was supposed to set sail? Nat turned to the others once he was astride, and spoke again. "The first waystation is two hours' ride to the south; we will rest there tonight. The southern woods are six days' ride from Haven, but I would have us cover the distance in five days if we can. Waystations and fresh mounts have been arranged for us until we reach the woods. Is everyone ready?"

(OOC #1: Hester, Rosalyn, Lacchi, Darius, and Veyana - please interact amongst yourselves for a few rounds. Nat and Melin will participate as well, and you can ask them questions about the mission. The object of this part of the story is for these characters to travel a great distance to the south on horseback over about a week's time. Rosalyn will guide them once they reach her home - Nat will give her instructions once they're there. All are welcome to state that days pass or to add small adventures to the journey.)

(OOC #2: Crim, we need Xeilla! Eddy, please assume that Maev and m'lady pack, and then travel to the western edge of the desert [1 to 2 days' journey to the east/northeast depending on how they travel.] The next 3-4 days of time are thus at your disposal.)

Rosealyn took the introductions in stride. She surveyed Nat and Darius with a highly critical eye. Sizing them up. Nat seemed dependable and sturdy and Rose wondered if it had simply been that her instructions had not been carried to his ear. But then 'freethinkers' were not necessarily discovered by mere observation of their physical state. If he was as willful as Melin had given him to be there might be trouble.

Darius seemed exciteable and stern. Almost like a man on a mission; only he was a bit more aggressive looking then that. Hard was probably the right word. Hester was short and stocky; she had the air of the dominating woman. Rose could tell this one was going to be trouble. She barely glanced at the dog. It was a dog. What was there to note? Little did she know the peculiarities of Lacchi.

As Nat's gaze hardened so did Rose's. She met his eyes with enough strength to exactly match his own and no more. No point in completely knocking the man over. She did not need to lose his respect and trust by comming off as arrogant and difficult. She needed only to come accross as strong. That she did.

She listened calmly to Nat's tale and when his first pause came she was already reaching conclusions about the fate of the ships. She was no sailor, and only a warrior by necessity; but she could guess what would be the outcome. And it was that Nat confirmed her suspicions about the pirates.

But his implication of Aranos was, in a way, surprising.

Why would Aranos attack Imlandris? Frankly Rose really didn't care. The politicians could quibble as they liked so long as they left her alone on her mountain. If she needed to step in and do something she would. Which was evidently why she was here.

She tried not to tug irritatedly on her horse's bridle as Nat mounted. He had been doing fine until now. She frowned. The necessity for speed was understandable, and generally horses had more stamina and speed then humans. Having surveyed the group she had to admit that most of the people would not be able to do so much as twenty miles in a day, much less one hundred.

Not even if they took it slow.

All the same if it meant being behind the others a short ways, Rosealyn would be more then happy to set the example by walking. So while everyone else mounted their horses, Rose clucked to her horse and followed on foot. Her long strides were an even match for those of the horses; at least while they walked.

Darius listened to Nat’s briefing with a quiet intensity. He knew of the piracy problem that this coast had been experiencing well; one of the reasons he had been in Haven was to try and track down crew members and eliminate the problem at its source.

He took stock of the rest of those present; Nat and Melin he had already met, and both men seemed capable fighters, which wouldn’t be surprising seeing as they were both knights. Nat’s leg could, however, be problematic, though having seen the ease with which he mounted his horse it may well have been an act. He would have to look into it further.

The middle-aged woman, one of the party who had returned with Melin and who had introduced herself as Rosealyn, looked like a tough one, who knew how to fight. Judging by the hardy clothing she wore, she was clearly an experienced traveller, and any guide would be useful in these parts, especially if they were trying to avoid detection on their journey into Aranos.

The hound Melin bought with him seemed a strange choice, but he could see wisdom in it; a sharp nose would be good for scenting any potential enemies or following trails, and should food run desperately low, they could always eat it.

But the old woman was the strangest member of the group. She looked physically frail, but there was an air of…danger about her. Not danger to them, by no means, but a feel of general, very intelligent nastiness that would be big trouble to anyone she decided to be worthy of her attentions. That said, like Rosealyn, there was something tough about her. Some people were like teak; they just got harder as they aged, and Darius supposed she was one of them.

Aranos, however, was news. Darius didn’t really care much for politics, and to he’d generally kept his business away from warfare, having never anticipated in battles larger than putting rioting or brawls down with the aid of a few watchmen. Still, if this was a mission of rescue than he’d be in his element.

Nat finished the briefing and mounted his horse, and Darius followed suit. As they began to trot away, he noticed that Rosealyn had abstained from riding and was simply walking to keep up with them. He couldn’t understand why she did this, but she was a potential ally, and it wouldn’t be a good idea to alienate, so he gently dropped his pace so that he drew level with her.

“I’m curious, Miss Christie,” he said conversationally. “Why are walking?”

OOC: Sorry there isn’t any more, but I couldn’t for the life of me think of anything else to add.

(Post for Damien and Laurry)
-------------------

The young man heaved a cough and a splutter. Choking he pushed himself upright on the beach and wreched the last of the seawater from his insides. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and crawled his way up beyond the reach of the waves. Trembling, he lay himself down to rest. The hard rocks were unkind to his tired body and for a moment he shifted to find comfort. Panting, he stared up at the island's sky and pondered the event of the last two days. He had been assigned to the Foam Rider a few days before to assist one of the knights because his squire had been ill.

The ship had been savagely attacked by pirates. The pirates would not have been so bad...except for the enemy fleet that waited in the sea that stretched before. Front and behind; there had been no way to go. And like rats in a trap they had been crushed.

Lauwrence had fought bravely by Sir Ford's side, but the knight had been overwhelmed by the sheer number of men boarding the ship and died. Decapitated. Fighting the urge to vomit-- for this was his first real battle--Laurry found himself trembling violently, and screaming some unintelligible defiance as he stood over the body of his fallen charge. He would die fighting. It was his duty.

Suddenly a great canonball rocked the floorboard beneath his feet and the page found himself soaring through the air. Arrows wizzed past his body; screaming death in their flight; behind him he could hear the cacophony of battle. Suddenly icy cold water slammed into his face and with a gasp all went black. How long he was out he couldn't say. Laurry was sure not very long, else he would have drowned. He awoke spluttering and coughing. The search for a piece of driftwood proved in vain and Laurry took off swimming. Which way he was going he knew not. He knew only that he had to find land or die.

He managed to find a piece of driftwood some hours later and succeeded in pushing himself quite a few miles before exhaustion claimed him. When he awoke he would swim again till he could swim no more. For a day and two nights he carried on in such a fashion; praying for land. Then a storm had come up. A large wave smothered him in darkness and water and when he awoke he found himself upon the beach.

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


Damien Claude had been aboard the Glass Lady. He had been assigned as a sort of moral support for the troops on the ship. He had a limited amount of skill as a healer and was excellent with woodwork. When not engaged with the men, he could be found tending to the needs of the boat or scribbling away in his book.

He was in his cabin when the battle started.

At first there was a noise like a shout, and then a great rumble like the sound of charging horses. Then came the first thundercrack of the canon. The ball shattered the roof above him and landed ontop of his writing table. Well...there went a whole day's worth of work. Gathering what few things he could, he headed upstairs to attend to the wounded. He had to fight his way onto the deck. He staff was not fatal to an armored soldier, but it was effective. He had nearly gained the deck when canon shot rendered the hull of the ship unsound and the lower decks began to flood with water.

As the ship sank, Damien saw that the battle was lost. Many of the King's men were dead or too wounded to fight. Too many pirates and men of Aaranos swarmed the ship. Damien was in the middle of a parrying thrust when the ship rocked and his foot slipped; falling overboard, into the icy embrace of the sea.

He was able to catch part of the mast and, much like Gav swim his way to shore. He did, however, arrive sooner then Lauwrence by a full day.

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

Well, he could not lay in his present state forever. Laurry set about finding a way up to the mainland. Nothing but rocks to the top. Sharp, jagged and quite nasty. The page felt about for his dagger (which thankfully, had not been lost in his adventures) and removed his leather jerkin. He hated to do it, for the jerkin had cost him a pretty penny, but he needed the protection. He gave the clothing a good cut through with his knife, slicing it into eight wide strips. Two strips each he tied about his hands like gloves. Two more he tied about his knees. The last four he paired up and tied around the soles of his boots. They were sturdy boots, but worn. The rocks would cut right through them if he wasn't careful.

His jerkin was worth every cent he paid for it. He made to the top of the incline with barely a scratch. His forearms were a little worse for wear; his jerkin was almost in ribbons. But the boots and his hands were still in tact.

So it was, with satisfaction and a great deal of fatigue, hunger and excitement that Lauwrence David gave one last trembling heave and hauled himself over the cliff's edge onto the mainland. The mainland was promisingly lush, well populated with plants and promising of much game. He wasn't sure how long it would be till he made it home; but he could live here for quite some time...

...provided the inhabitants were friendly...

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

Damien Claude hauled himself up onto the beach with a sigh. He was tired. And cold. And wet. Damien hated being wet more then cats did. He reallt was not a water person. Infact, the only reason he had learnt how to swim was because had a fear of drowning. It was a comfort to know that knowledge had served him well.

With his carving knife he was able to cut some slabs from the broken mast and affix them to his feet. using the sash from his tunic. This being done, he strapped his staff to his back and proceeded to tackle the long and treacherous climb to the top of the mainland. He did not fair so well as Lauwrence, nor so poorly as Gavilan. Yet he did not have the strength to heal himself upon reaching the top of the cliff. So it was that he set about looking for food to gather, and made to hobble off into the woods. He was very tired after his long climb, however, (for it took him longer being shorter) and stopped for a nap under a nearby tree.

Perhaps his wounds would have closed sufficiently by the time he awoke that he would be able to forage for food. As soon as he was able, he would build a boat and head for home.

(You can have Gav stumble upon them anyway you like.)

In the beginning little happened. Hester rode towards the rear of their group, shooting loathsome eyes at Melin’s back whenever something else wasn’t distracting her. A man dressed as a tin can; a woman wielding a gigantic pin; an anomalous dog; and a pair of kings-men, against one of whom Hester held a grudge:- the assembly was needless to say, the oddest for many miles. As suitable company as any for the crusty old hag.

Where was I? Ah yes. In the beginning little happened. Hester found a boil between the folds of skin on her neck and began plucking furiously at it. Disgusting; but it kept her mind from doing the same to Melin.

There was general conversing between the group and as tempting as it was to add her tongue to the natter, for the moment Hester decided to keep herself to herself. So while the going is slow and Hester has her mouth shut, lets break paths for a moment with our intrepid adventurers and delve into the uncultivated forest that is Old Mother Hester’s memory

*

Just what was the thing that snatched Mister B from the folds of fog the night of Hester’s capture? Why does our little dwarf object so stalwartly to strangers traversing her home? We brush away the swirling mists of Troll Country as a woman does with the cobwebs of her kitchen, tearing them away and down. Rolled out before us are carpets of green and gray, mires and mesas, meeting the skies with a hazy kiss. It’s a spectacle that the greedy white fog has long horded, forever preventing all but one from witnessing odd serenity of Troll Country.

The exception is sitting a little way ahead, perched knee-huggingly on a arching boulder. Its midsummer’s dusk, oh decades ago. And lain out before her is the rugged, fog-free map. Can you feel it catching your breath? The memory stirs, like ink in water, siphoned away by a protective mind.

Is this why Old Hester has such remonstration against travellers in her Country? Why she has done her best to keep the rumours of Trolls alive? Before we can contemplate these questions fully another memory has taken the place of the former.

Much darker than the first, we stand before a frontier village, tall and ramshackle. It’s buildings jut like arrows from a bison, feathered and spiked and watching their surrounds with a malicious eye. The fables of trolls are sunk deep into the conscious here. Beneath their iron and stone walls hunches a shadow, tracing her fingers across the masonry. Hester looks up and the wall stretches ever on. Higher than the heavens. The memory flickers. Hester by a deep gorge. She toes its edge, knocking scree into its shadowy depths. The echoes call back tauntingly. Flicker. Hester stands on an rocky beach, barren and empty. She clutches her stomach and pulls at reeds. Feeling jailed in her own Country.

The memory doesn’t change with a flicker this time, it fades gently. This memory is sepia toned, old and almost gone now. We’re standing on the cliff above Hester’s cave home. A pair of women sit there, looking out across a white blanketed land. One is our Hester, younger, taller, less prune-like. The other is somewhat older. Her face is pointed, in a way that doesn’t immediately strike you as beautiful. Yet there are definitely dredges of beauty thrown in there, in a pointed, forceful manner, challenging you to call it so. Her hair raven black, clothes tattered and masculine, a sword sheathed by her hip.

Their lips move but no sound comes out. Hester looks up at her companion, something odd in her eyes. The other woman’s hand twitches against the sword hilt. Hester doesn’t notice, smiles and offers her an apple. The woman’s face twists into something hideous, a mask morphed between regret and defiance. She knocks Hester backward while drawing her sword, raises the rusty piece of equipment and - something else is there, something wooden and rickety. The black haired woman’s mask opens to scream. We hear no sound. She is plunged over the cliff and the fog swarms after her body.

Hester looks up at the Marionette, her eyes wide and sad and pained, emotions battling for her face.

Everything goes blank.

Hester shakes her head. We're spat out of her mind and back with the present.

*

She squeezed the pony and trotted up alongside Nat. “So just what is it yee hope to find travelling by land mister Nat? If your beloved prince and his were swallowed by the sea?”

Lacchi’s growls had grown louder and more worried the closer they came to the small group of three. His head had lowered and his ears had pressed against his skull until they almost disappeared. His tail had tucked itself between his hind legs and he’d sent more than one confused glance Melin’s way when the man took little heed of his warning save to shush him. Then, as easily as he’d begun, he stopped. Cearly, there was nothing to fear. That, or he wasn’t being brought along to act as a watchdog and they didn’t trust a beast’s instincts over their own. Which was foolish, but then, he wasn’t quite a beast either, so it was wiser than they could know. The thief, however, was perfectly willing to trust the instincts of two hoofed beasts who showed no sign of fear. Indeed, one seemed eager to meet up with the horses ahead of them, and unless there were more cursed creatures, or shapeshifters, or what-have-yous wandering about this night, Lacchi could only assume that the horse had an instinct one could trust.

By which point everyone else had come together and it was too late for an alarm to do any good anyways. He sighed as he stood eyeing the reunion askance. Sometimes, being nothing more than a dog could have its disadvantages. For instance, if they all knew he was a man, they probably wouldn’t have left him ignorant as to what the purpose of this midnight meeting was. Even if it wasn’t midnight yet… Of course, if they all knew he was a man that would have taken some very grand perceptive skills and a few crazy theories as far as he was concerned. And it didn’t matter either. He didn’t want them knowing he was anything more than a well-trained messenger hound until the moment came when such guises had to be discarded. He didn’t like the idea of other folks knowing so much about him. And they couldn’t blame a dog for being wary of shadowy strangers, now could they?

So, while everyone else took to eyeing each other and sizing the whole lot up into a ragtag bunch of eclectics, Lacchi decided he’d do exactly the same thing. It might be useful, later on, to know who was who and what was what and all that. He shook himself and yawned as he came closer, a clear signal from any dog that they were perfectly at ease with the situation and comfortable enough not to be a danger to anyone. There were two men, one of whom was Sir Something-or-other, Melin’s friend. The other was probably the witch-hater Hester had been warned about. He wasn’t certain, but he was willing to bet the Sir was the quiet man standing by and watching them all, and the witch-hater was the one with the breastplate, that would have gone for quite a bit, and the cocky arrogant expression on his face. Which reminded him…

Lacchi glanced about, brown eyes searching over the lumps that were saddlebags for a brief moment as he considered the fun that might be had tinkering with the placement of some of the things within them. Nothing too fancy, or he’d likely get caught trying to switch things, he’d just have a looksee and locate the food supplies too. That way, he’d know which bags to sleep near and guard with extra vigil should it seem necessary. Then, the cursed thief continued his perusal of the company it seemed he would be keeping for the time being. Most of his attention, however, was now taken up by the speech Melin’s friend was making. A speech that, by happy chance, seemed to be giving them all the reason for this expedition. Lacchi most assuredly approved of having the chance to listen in. But of course, a dog could not be seen to be listening too intently to human gibberish, well, not a dog who wasn’t a dog. So, while he kept his ears tuned to the words, his eyes were wandering, and his black paws were carrying him from one member of the group to another. He started with the other woman.

She looked grumpy. Either she wasn’t happy about having to be out of bed at this hour or she didn’t like keeping company with strangers. Or both, he supposed it could very well be both. Well, grumpy probably meant that he ought to keep his distance from her, at least, until he knew why she was irritated. So he slipped past her with a playful grin and then sniffed about the talking man’s feet. His boots were well worn, and he smelled of dirt and sweat and a little something sour. Not fear, but it wasn’t healthy… Ah well, if he’d been a real dog, he might have been able to guess, since he wasn’t, he couldn’t and there was no point bothering himself about it. Lacchi moved on, glancing back when the man’s voice picked up a little volume and pausing to think on what he’d just said. The point he was making, was whether or not they ought to be worrying about pirates or Aranos warships. Personally, Lacchi didn’t understand that there was much of a difference. Both were things he never wanted to come across. And, so far as he could tell, this wasn’t about figuring out what had happened to the ships, so much as what had happened to the Prince. Granted, those two were likely intertwined, but the man seemed already quite certain about the answer to his question, which meant it was rhetorical, now didn’t it?

The hound snorted and turned back to his investigations, happily giving the horses a respectful berth and looking up only once as he ambled past the armoured man. His type were either friendly to dogs, or didn’t appreciate their company and made that abundantly clear through violence. Lacchi, being both a dog and not at all inclined to have his ribs bruised merely to clear up which this fellow was, decided he would let the man make the first move in their relationship and strayed farther afield. He already knew Melin to be a man he wouldn’t mind befriending and had accepted that the little witch who wasn’t was going to be an amusing companion to keep his eyes on. Old ladies with enough attitude to consider killing someone were definitely people who needed to be watched. And to walk carefully around. He also got the feeling that if he was lucky enough to be around her if ever they were eating meatpies, he’d have a full stomach afterwards. Something that almost always placed a person in his good books. At least until he got to know them better.

When the speech came around to the part they were supposed to be playing in all this, Lacchi took a moment to muddle through the implications. In truth, he didn’t figure it out until there was a mention of riding south and then of him and the others riding south as well. If this man was going through so much careful coordination to make sure folks believed he was still on board that ship, but was here instead, then this must be important. And if that was the case… Nah, they couldn’t possibly be the king’s best men! For one thing, two of them were women, and one of those was a crusty old hag the likes of which Lacchi remembered running from when he was a young lad on the streets because they could have dangerously loud voices and you never could tell their motives. For another, if the king was serious about getting his son back, shouldn’t he be sending a few more who knew how to use swords? And what the bloody hell did he need with a dog?! Was he supposed to be the one to run back over the mountains when they found the prince, if they found the prince, to let the king know the mission had been half-successful and that now they just had to get him back to Imlandris? Sure, he could do it. He would be able to remember the route, or at least, judge general directions, and he might manage to get back over the mountains if he could find a safe path, though that was iffy, but they couldn’t know that. Even a messenger dog, intelligent though they all were, would not have been able to do such a thing without first being trained and shown the route… More than once!

So what were they thinking they’d need him for? Extra rations that carried themselves?!

Lacchi slumped next to Melin’s horse, thoroughly dejected and feeling quite pointless. Now that his momentary annoyance had passed, he still couldn’t think of what use he would be to them. They had a guide of this Rosalyn lass and that meant she was likely a capable hunter, so he was out a job there too. Ah well, it didn’t matter. They were taking him with them, and short of running off now, he wasn’t about to change that fact. He’d given up that kitchen for some excitement, and it seemed highly likely that he had found it, or he would have found it soon, anyway. So he might as well continue, whether he was useful or not. Forgetting himself, he snorted as the man swore away his own life and Melin’s for any one of theirs. He didn’t want anyone giving up their lives for him. It would be an unnecessary waste, so he hoped it wouldn’t happen, but it also seemed a little dramatic. And Lacchi, a professional thief and now a god in hiding, was not one to appreciate dramatics.

But there was little enough time to dwell on such things. And Lacchi tried not to. Instead, he lifted his head as the others began to mount their horses. His folded ears perking forward as he watched Melin like any hound wondering if it was time to move. When the man swung his horse around and the others began to do the same, Lacchi stood and sauntered alongside his knew friend. Melin was, after all, the one he knew best. There was not, however, much to do beside a horse, and Lacchi quickly grew bored with that. So he began to look around and noticed the trailing members of their group. At first, he tilted his head in confusion, stopping in his slow trot to take a closer look. He was wondering if one or the other was having trouble riding, or if a horse didn’t want to go anywhere, but the truth of the matter was that that grumpy woman was walking. Maybe she didn’t like horses, though she seemed comfortable enough leading the one walking behind her.

Turning his head over one shoulder to glance at Melin and Hester and the other man, Lacchi barked once, then twice, then began trotting back the way they had come. He let his tongue loll happily from his mouth and set a jaunty bounce into his step, but he was coming to find out what the trouble was. Hadn’t they heard the man say they needed to be quick about this whole thing?

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

Fool! Idiot! Cursed daredevil schemes and the lust for money that had gotten him into this mess! And curse that bastard captain to be twice-born a goat and thrice again as a chicken! The daft man had gone and attacked! Attacked during a deal! Not that he could really blame the man, given how that negotiating had been turning a little towards the wrong side of luck. Well, alright, so it had been turning a lot on the wrong side, but they wouldn’t never even have had this trouble if the man hadn’t decided to take the offer of gold to attack that Imlandris ship! From the little he’d been able to overhear, along with his fellow rowers, things hadn’t been going as expected right from the very start. Well, any fool ought to have expected that.

After all, it was a rare day when a deal was made with all the gold to be had afterwards. And not even a small dockpenny to be had before. That wasn’t how deals were supposed to be made. The Captain had known that, and he’d still gone in expecting everything to turn out right. The idiot! Three days it had been since that ill-fated meeting, three blasted, god-awful days! And Risar was still cursing his captain’s name! Dear old Captain Gord, the man whose eyes were larger than his brain. Risar had been going for three days on the absolute fear that he was going to be found and killed by those guards. They knew he was alive. He’d offed one of their friends hadn’t he, making his escape. And they’d got him two good ones, in his shoulder and leg, hadn’t they? And he was lying in this cot, being doted on by the old village mother while she healed those arrow wounds now, terrified and sick with fear that he’d led those bastards down on this village.

Oh, he had no need to worry about being ratted out. He was a Celynese born and bred, wasn’t he just? Bright blue eyes and browned as the weathered wood of the ships they all knew so well. He wasn’t to worry his pretty head about it, so the old mother had said, but how the bloody hell was he supposed to keep from worrying?! He’d seen what those men could do, and knew it was by the will of the gods that he was still alive, because it surely hadn’t been through any skill of his own. If they followed him here, these people were as good as dead. He was certain of it. That Havvad hadn’t wanted any witnesses, and Risar was smart enough to keep his mouth shut, but those guards wouldn’t be sure of that. They’d be wanting to make real certain, and they’d probably be angry about that young man he’d knifed. Damn that bastard son of a three-eyed toad! Why’d he have to go and think there was any good to be had attacking an Imlandris warship?

Melin shook his head and glanced oddly at Rose, but did not object to her decision to jog along beside them as she clearly had the stamina to keep up with the horses. He guarded the rear of the party, while Sir Nathan led in the front. The dog, Lacchi, stuck close by Melin, and Melin was grateful for the extra set of watchful eyes. Frequently he glanced down at Lacchi to judge the animal's reaction to a sound in the nearby bushes or to a nearby ranch house that lay along the road, but Lacchi gave no warnings, and Melin relaxed.

Nat smiled at Hester, appreciating her question. It was, after all, a poor assumption to believe without question that Aranos was to blame for the attack on the Imlandris ships. "No," he said, shaking his head. "Our intent is not to seek out information. The empress of Aranos has spies in Imlandris, and so we also have spies in her country. King Halden is using all of his resources to discover who attacked the ships, what happened to them following the attack, and whether or not the prince - or anyone on board - may still be alive. We believe that Aranos must have attacked the ships, but we don't know this for a fact. During the time we will be traveling to Aranos, the king's spies will learn what they can about the events and the fate of the ships. The plan is for us to meet with an ally in Aranos, and he will tell us what the spies have learned. At that point, if the prince is determined to be alive, we are to rescue him. We travel by land because we can cross the Aranos border in secret by doing so; by ship we would be seen as soon as we entered the Strait of Melynas."

Nat glanced briefly to the left, guiltily realizing that he was evading Hester's question. While Nat cared for Palamir dearly, having known the prince all of the young man's life, the foremost concern in Nat's mind was not for the missing prince. As a knight of Imlandris, however, finding Palamir was his foremost priority, and he knew where his duty lay. But he did not voice a true answer to Hester's question, wanting neither to seem disloyal nor to lie.

The party traveled on to the first waystation, arriving at nearly midnight. Nathan and Melin surveyed both the hut and the area with practiced efficiency before allowing the others to enter. Nat took the first watch and stood outside, while Melin organized the others and encouraged them to get a good night's rest. The waystation had its own stores of food and firewood, and soon the small hut was warm and everyone was arranged on their own cot. Melin gave some meat to Lacchi before crawling into his sleepsack and, per the practiced art of a knight who needed to be awake for the second watch, fell asleep instantly.

(OOC: Go ahead and interact some more! I'll move us forward in my next post.)

*******

Havvad, accompanied by his guards and attendants, sailed from Celynse to Aranos as soon as his duty on the island was finished. Their small ship skirted the Celynse shores along the Strait of Melynas and fought the current across the channel to the city of Gent, south of the Aranos capital. They caught the wind and rowed hard, for Havvad had ordered haste.

In Gent lay Havvad's lord's stronghold, high on the hills overlooking the bay. While the waters in the Strait were rough and wind-blown, the small bay was protected from the south-bound winds that harried the Aranos coast, and the water here was calm and still. This far south in Aranos the sun-baked sand typically glared blindingly at the approaching ships, and heat waves would emanate from the roofs of the city's buildings. The streams would run sparingly from the hills, and fresh water was as valuable a resource as gold. But on this day the weather was strangely overcast, which was so incredibly uncharacteristic that Havvad's men were shocked to silence. A fine mist brushed the servants' faces as they rowed towards the city docks, and clouds obscured the silhouette of the castle in the distance. Strange birds cried overhead, pulled inland by the same cold front that had brought the mist, and the arid plants on the shore dripped with condensation, their leaves sickly from the excess moisture.

Havvad stood as a still, armed statue in the boat's center, unfazed by the queer weather and staring straight ahead at their destination, his eyes piercing. His composition gave his men courage, but still they glanced at each other in fear. The city of seemed as gray as the weather, its houses slate in color and shining from the mist. The streets were not dry and dusty, and its people went about as if in a strange dream, or as if they had passed into another world. Most of the people that walked about acted dazed and cold, and many stayed inside and closed their doors in superstition. This left few people upon the streets, for the city had not truly flourished in its years under the lordship of Inai-rafen.

The ship docked quietly. Havvad and his guards disembarked, while the crew and the servants saw to the ship and cargo. The docks were wet and slippery, but Havvad did not allow the conditions to delay him. He walked with confidence through the docks, and then up the streets of the city. The peoples of the city who saw him were heartened by his return, for he was a famous warrior and loyal servant of the empress's brother. Their voices grew in confidence, and some emerged from their homes, and the streets resumed some of their former bustle and activity after he had passed.

The castle was a warrior's fortress. Spikes lined unscalable walls, and heavy gates of iron opened threateningly, leading to a passage between the walls and through a second, inner gate. The courtyard was of slate-colored stone, with no structures that did not abut the walls - providing no cover for enemy invaders. Wagons were being loaded for the prince's journey; Havvad judged by their readiness that the prince planned to leave tomorrow. Havvad had done well to return in haste.

None bowed to Havvad as he passed, for he, too, was a servant of the prince, but all dropped their eyes and touched their foreheads in salute to his status as the highest of them all. Havvad paid them no notice, and proceeded to the inner keep. His duty precluded rest, and so he went to attend the prince at once. There was no need to search, for the servant knew his master well; he found the prince in his study, reading.

Inai'rafen was tall and thin, with black eyes, hair as dark as pitch, and a coarse, well-trimmed beard. He stood as Havvad's entered, smiling, and offered his hand, which Havvad took as he knelt before his master. "It is good to see you, Havvad," said Rafen. "Your task was successful. The prisoner arrived safely and is in my care. Now, tell me everything that has happened since you sent him on to me, for I would know what befell the pirates, and whether it is probable that the Imlandris king might learn what I have done."

"Sire, all has been done as you instructed. We sailed with the pirates to Celynese, and upon our arrival they were lured onto the beach and killed by your soldiers. The pirate ships are sunk and the bodies burned. I left men on Celynese to seek out any Imlandris soldiers that may have made the swim to shore, and any pirates that may have escaped the attack. All of the ports and towns are being watched. If any survivors emerge from the woods, my men are instructed to kill them covertly." Havvad spoke with no arrogance; he had learned to give the prince only facts.

"Very good, Havvad. I trust that you were thorough in these arrangements. Tomorrow we travel by wagon to my holdings in the desert, where we will meet several lords who are my loyal followers. Together we will examine the prisoner and determine the nature of the danger he poses to our country, and determine how to eliminate that danger safely. Ensure his safety, Havvad, until we reach the desert. Know that, from what I've learned, killing him outright would be dangerous, and possibly also fatal to those around him. He must be protected until he can be studied. He is a sickness here - you saw the weather? That is his doing; his cancer in our realm. I trust you with him, Havvad, do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord," replied Havvad.

Havvad did not worry. He knew his duty, and how to carry out the prince's orders well and thoroughly. Once he was dismissed Havvad headed purposefully to the castle jail to ensure the security of the prisoner. The rest of the day would be spent arranging the prisoner's protection during their journey to the desert. There was no room for error, but Havvad was always thorough and made no errors. He did not worry.

(OOC to Eddy: Maev and Rafen are traveling to the same place, though via different roads.)

**********

(OOC to Nemai: Risar is a bit ahead of us on the timeline, so Gav is going to meet up with Damien and Laurry first and then the three of them together will find Risar, ideally by my next post.)

Gav spent more than a day roaming the wildlands of Celynese, seeking food and scouting for nearby roads and towns. Gav took much time to rest, for he was weary from his swim despite the help of the strange sea-creature, and his walks through the forest were slow. He determined that this truly was a wild place, and that the nearest road was located to the east, heading north to south. Though his knowledge of Celynese geography was poor at best, he judged he was near the northern end of the island, and that there would be a port to the east if he followed the trade road north.

He built himself a fire, and used his knife to fashion a spear. It was intended only for self-defense, for he had no delusions of spearing rabbits or river-fish with the crude weapon. Instead he set several snares to catch his dinners, and found the woods to be bountiful in both meat and edible roots and plants.

Danger was present here, he knew, for any captain who recognized the possibility of survivors from the wreck would send troops to shore to seek them out. Gav did not expect his enemy to expend their efforts searching the woods, but nevertheless he was on his guard. And so it was, as he prepared to leave the area and head north, parallel to the road he'd seen, he sighted another man in the woods. Gav squinted his eyes, for the man stood at a distance, and thought at first that he might be deceived - for the youth wore clothes of Imlandris. And yet the young man's appearance was ragged, as if he'd swam to shore and climbed the cliffs below, and his features were vaguely familiar. But Gav knew that this young man had not been aboard the Sea Flower, and so he could not be certain of his identity. Was the promise of a potential ally worth the danger? It was, he thought, for he needed help to reach the prince, if indeed he was alive. Judging from the young man's movements Gav thought that he could best him in a fight; he took this chance, and stepped out into the open, his weapon before him. "Easy lad," he said, endeavoring to calm the boy. "State your name, and your purpose here. If you're a friend you'll know who I am, but I'll need proof from you. Which ship did you sail on, and who did you serve?"

(OOC to Eddy: If that wasn't enough to go on, Gav ran into Laurry.)

[[ Timeline Updated ]]]

'Miss' Christie eyed Darius in a coldly contemplative way while she considered his question. We?

"Seems like your horse is doing the walking, to me." She said simply. Both an evasion and a response. Rosealyn Christie was not one for much conversation. Used to the solitude of her mountain home, she had become silent in nature. Her lack of association with outside beings made gave her a bluntness which matched the steely hardness of her nature. "Why don't you get off that thing and walk? Do that carcass of yours some good." She added. Not that he looked unfit. At the pace they were keeping, though, he would be a whole lot fitter if he walked the rest of the way. Apparently she did not return his qualms about putting people off.

There was a moment of silence as the mountain woman contemplated the pros and cons of continued conversation.

"What you do for a living, son?" Darius was three years her senior. That fact, however, made no difference. Just then, Lacchi barked and ran up at them friendly like, as dogs do. When he arrived she reached down to pat him on the head. But not too long; she had to keep up with the horses.

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

Maev shifted her grip on Wolvgard's short white coat as she followed behind her ladyship's camel. She sighed as shifted her grip yet again. Wolvgard turned his head to look at her inquisitively, his tounge hanging out of his mouth. They had trimmed the wolf's coat to keep him from getting too hot in the sweltering desert sun. One inch long, the hair was just long enough to keep him from getting sunburnt. Maev missed twining her fingers in it.

She was following her mistress's caravan by about thirty paces. Far enough that the camels wouldn't feel threatened by her wolf, but close enough that she wouldn't get lost in the vast expanse of sand. Fortunately, camels did not travel very fast. They had been traveling for a day and a half now. Wolvgard was doing better then expected for an animal of his kind. Maev wished she was holding up as well as he. Between the scarf around her face to keep out the sand, the long cloak she wore to keep from becomming sunburnt and the thik cotton dress she wore beneath she was feeling stifled. Baked.

She attempted to think of something other then her current state of being. Anything to take her mind off the heat. What was the princess like? Maev could not picture her. Not physically. But she guessed she was lovely. Kind and gentle, caring. Her people had done well under her reign. Her kingdom had prospered. There was peace.

Until recently.

Now the goddess' country was being threatened by king Halden's men because Prince Palamir had been captured by her people. But who would want the prince? Lots of people, really. Lots of reasons. So maybe that wasn't right question. The right question was: Who wanted the prince the most and why? But the handmaid couldn't answer that. She didn't know enough of the court back home. Her job was gathering information so that others could answer questions like this one.

Would the prince be there? The blind lady had never met Inai-rafen. She had heard a lot about him, though. Apparently he had fallen out of favor with the goddess. Irresponsible. Petulant... A prince who had failed in his duties and thus failed his country.

Mave sighed. So much new to learn. Perhaps she would be able to learn the location and condition of Imlandris' prince. She hoped her lord was alright...

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

Lauwrence David was not facing Sir Gavilan Laniaus at the moment the page's existence was discovered. He was squatting over a trap he was setting in the hopes of catching something. Excited by the prospect to put some of his knowledge into application, he was deep in concentration as he tied the knot. --Not that he had never set traps before. Even though his father was a lord, Laurry still went out roughing it with his pals. They would spend weeks in the wood, when they were free, hunting and exploring and generally camping...--

It was as the knight approached that Laurry became aware of the other person's existence. (For Gav, wanting to find an ally had made no attempt to conceal his presence.) The page shot up, pivoting on his heel as he did so. His dagger materialized in his hand as he moved to throw it. He paused just before releasing the weapon as realization dawned upon him.

Sir Gavilan Lenaius!

It was not so much the knight's greeting words of assurance that caused the page to stay his hand, as it was the mixture of admiration, suprise and shock that flashed through the young man. He had never actually spoken to the knight; in his duties as a page he had had plenty of time to observe him. Through observation, the youth had come to admire the man who now stood before him undaunted, if worse for wear, asking proof of allegiance. In a way, Laurry had been hoping Gavilan would make him his own squire.

Now was his chance to prove himself!

To think, he had almost killed the man in surprise. He would never have forgiven himself for that. After a moment of stunned silence, Laurry lowered his hand and snapped to attention. Shoulders back, feet apart, head up. The dagger disappeared.

"Lauwrence David, Sir." The young man fell easily into the routine of his training. His purpose? Currently he had none. Not on Celynese anyway. He would not have the faintest clue where to even begin looking for the raiders, and if he was to be of any use he must get back to Imlandris. His voice was not loud (because he did not want to attract attention from any hostile parties) but it was clear.

"I wish to retun to Imlandris, Sir. My ship was the Foam Rider, Sir. I was thrown overboard in defense of Sir Eric Ford, Sir. I am a page in service to King Halden, of Imlandris. Sir, my sword is yours, Sir." At this, the dagger materialized yet again, hilt first this time. Lauwrence offered the blade in token of surrender.

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

Damien Claude awoke happily from his nap and, finding that his wounds had indeed closed as he anticipated, wandered into the woods. He sought food and assistance. His venture was slow, as he was still weak and tired. Not being a warrior by trade, he was also stressed.

Who knew what was in the woods?

Certainly not he. He was but a monk. He knew only of gardening, whittling, writing and prayer. What he knew of combat was strictly in self-defense. That was not to say he could not hold his own; his fight on the ship was a testimony to his endurance and skill. However, he was not attuned as the warrior was, in the way of war. So he would not have immediately noticed a footfall, or, with the instincts of a warrior, felt the prickle on his neck that signaled ambush.

Damien walked with care.

Not silently; because he did not know how to be stealthy, but carefully all the same. He spent the day foraging for food and doing what he could to recover his strength. It was in the middle of the second day, as he was taking his customary afternoon nap, that he heard voices in the brush behind him.

As hastily as he could, without hurting himself, Damien headed for cover. From within the brush, he could see the pair. The lad he recognized. (Laurry often went to Damien for advice.) The knight he did not. Seeing the lad's response, he popped out of the brush as gingerly as possible and hobbled over.

"What ho, good fellows!" He greeted them amicably.

Lacchi was glad that they did not have far to go tonight. Well, not far by his life’s standards. By the standards of his past few days, a two hour ride was a long time to be wandering about. Still, he wasn’t about to complain. He was a dog; dogs didn’t usually complain about the lack of rest, in fact, he’d often noted that they generally seemed quite pleased to have the chance to explore new places. He remembered it himself from his time spent without his memories or his human thoughts. Besides which, complaining was only fun when others could hear it, and Lacchi didn’t want to give up his privilege of being undignified and properly able to beg just so he could complain about nothing. Maybe, when he actually had something to complain about, he’d reconsider, right now… Life was good, for the most part.

Accepting the greeting from Rose as though it was his due, and then trotting back to the side of Melin’s horse, the cursed thief determined that nothing overly exciting was going to occur during this ride ou to the waystation. Well, nothing exciting between the people gathered here. There could have been someone following them or waiting ahead ready to make trouble, but he didn’t know about that. Still, if Melin was watchful, he would be too. The man looked tired, as were most of these others likely. But Lacchi had had all the time in the world to catch up on his rest in that kitchen. He was well-fed and well rested and naturally alert. He didn’t like getting caught by surprise. He would help keep watch. In his own way.

Nothing happened though. The farms they passed kept quiet and no one rode out from the copses of trees along the edge of their path. And when they came to the waystation, Lacchi recognized it as one he’d used a few times before. But only rarely, he usually wandered further in land than this. This way, there wasn’t all that much even nearing Haven’s importance regarding the number of letters sent off. As happy as though he’d gotten into the cheese, the black and white hound wandered about the building as he shadowed Melin’s search of the place, keeping an eye on Sir Nathan as he did. He also searched the place for himself, but though his search was just as thorough as the two knights’, it seemed very much too haphazard to be anything more than a curious dog looting about for some chance forgotten grub.

Of course, he didn’t find any. But he did learn that someone had been by recently. The woodpile outside had been freshly cut, and there was a patch of dirt that smelt of blood, though he couldn’t see, in the dark, if it was shadows making the stain appear. Only a rabbit though, probably a hunter then, making use of the place and then resupplying what wood he had taken for his fire. Another scent, fainter, but quite pungent, of a woman’s perfume lingered near the sleeping place Melin had taken, and Lacchi sneezed when he went near it. But there weren’t any dangers. At least, not that he could tell. Nothing but the usual passage of weary travelers taking shelter beneath a roof. Although a woman was rather unusual… He shrugged it away. She wasn’t here now, he’d know, she wouldn’t have been able to keep hidden tonight. Not wearing that scent!

When the old knight called him over, Lacchi left off his explorations and was glad of it. The meat was good and filling after that appetite making hike, and he made it disappear quickly. Then moved on to looking imploringly at everyone else since Melin had rolled himself up in his blankets and likely wouldn’t be inclined to give in to a dog’s begging ways. Nor was it likely that knight would believe he was starving. But no one else knew that he’d just spent his days happily eating all the scraps in Lord Roupe’s kitchen. He briefly considered trying to win his way to someone else’s dinner, but then decided that they would probably need the food more. Which was an uncharacteristically generous thought, but he didn’t mind, his belly was full enough to last him for awhile, and he was sleepy.

Instead of curling up and letting himself nod off, however, Lacchi positioned himself near the door, yawning and making a big fuss about finding the most comfortable position, before he slumped to the ground and closed his eyes. Later, he assured himself, he would start messing with everyone’s stuff later. Right now, he would make sure nothing caught them by surprise. He only hoped that old witch lady, who may, or may not, have actually been a witch, didn’t notice what he was doing. Well, he could either hope, or make certain of it by not doing anything, but Lacchi didn’t want to be caught sleeping if someone was out there waiting for them all to fall asleep. The first night of a long, secret journey was, as far as he could think it through, probably the most dangerous one. At least, it would be until they crossed the border into Imlandris. So he’d keep a special sort of watch tonight.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust these two knights to be able to watch out for themselves, he just wanted to help. So, rather than dropping into dreamland, he allowed his mind to drift away from his body and began the most complicated magic weaving that he knew. Power drifted through him when he nudged it awake. It filled him from the source he had yet to determine, and then spread outward. And with it went his senses. It filled the wooden slats beneath him and ran through the treetrunks that built the walls. It rippled across the roof and drifted over the ground in a wide circle. Through it, he touched each of the company in turn. Melin, already asleep, and the armoured fellow whose name he couldn’t remember, if he’d ever known it. The old grouch and the younger one, and then Sir Nathan, standing outside. Then the power kept going until it covered a wide enough area that a warning would be of use to everyone.

There wasn't anything exciting or obvious about what he was doing, something that Lacchi absolutely loved about this particular use of magic. Since it flowed through him and then spread into the ground in a growing circle, this passive direction was hard to detect and, so he had once been told, even harder to place its origins. Once he judged the magic spread far enough away, Lacchi let it sink deeper, back into the whole of it, though he kept drawing more, so it was rather like a big circle, only, with this, he could sense what he wanted to, things he might not hear or scent until it was too late. Like a nasty spell or very intent investigator.

In his mind’s eye everyone glowed a little, Hester a little bit more than the others, there were also a few mice and bugs, but they weren't what he was looking for. The thief would hold to his lookout until the sun rose, or until it proved more prudent to sound the alarm against a threat. The cool night air was deliciously pleasant and Lacchi grew relaxed in his half-sleep, but even then he didn't forget his vigil. Sometimes, he appreciated being a god. In this case, however, he was more grateful to the stint of time he’d spent with that enchanter than anything, otherwise he would never have learned how to do this.

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

Lying beside the bed where he had been confined for a good long while, well, long enough for him to want to get up and out of it, Risar glared at the wall. It made sense, of course, that having his leg shot would make it difficult to walk. It even made sense that the old lady looking after him had warned him not to try moving about until she told him it was safe. The pain throbbing through his shoulder and calf made perfect sense too. What didn’t make sense was how he’d ended up on the floor. Because the man could not remember getting up, or falling. All he remembered was a vicious pain dragging him out of his sleep and then rolling over quickly so that his wound was no longer in contact with the floor.

He’d been lying there, judging by the sunlight’s progress through the room, for a good hour and had yet to work up enough lack of dignity to give up trying to get back into bed by himself and call the lady inside. He was supposed to be resting, and she’d told him she’d bring in his dinner but leave him alone otherwise. She had other things to see to, and didn’t need to listen to the complaints of a man who was probably lucky to be alive. Or so she’d said. Risar was quite certain he’d only complained the once, but then, maybe he said a few things that he couldn’t remember. After all, he was lying on the floor and he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there.

True, it was more than likely that he’d simply fallen out of the bed due to a bad dream, or some such thing, and the shock of waking had thrown that dream clear of his skull. But that did not explain how he’d made it a little farther from his bed than simply falling would have achieved…

The sailor sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position with his good arm for quite possibly the hundredth time. It was a nice, big number, and he certainly couldn’t count that high, so why not? He’d crawled back here on his own, and might, eventually, manage to get into the bed on his own too. But he was finding that difficult to believe given the lack of evidence that it was possible. Who was the bright spark that had decided village beds needs to be waist high off the ground anyway? Well, whichever ancestor it was, Risar cursed them roundly and inventively. If the bed had been carved any lower, he could have made it, but with the difficulty of having a bad arm and a leg he couldn’t stand on… he just wasn’t getting anywhere.

Finally, with a sigh like the bellows, the man finished glaring and decided he’d had quite enough of trying for today. He’d wait until the old lady came of her own accord and never mind puffing up his lungs until he was blue in the face trying to get some help. It would come in its own time. Meanwhile, he was going to get some more sleep. He’d need it soon enough, the lady would be giving him the healing soon. And that would be anything but restful…

As Nat spoke Hester reached inside her scarves, rummaged a little, and produced a small tin box. She flicked it open. Inside were a row of long white cigarettas and a little match book. She lit herself one and, without offering any to Nat, replaced the box inside her scarves. As she puffed purple plumes up into the boughs of the trees she cocked her head, listening to Nat. As he finished she clapped her hand over her heart and sighed, “Ah loyalty. Tell me this Mister Nat, would your prince do the same for you?” She dragged on her cigaretta. “Imagining a Prince, royal blood an’ all that, chasing through all manner o’ dangers fer jus’ a knight is proving difficult fer me.”

She chuckled softly to herself. “Ah ‘scuse. It wasn’t me place - ah I’m but an old woman, softened in the head by my years alone.” She cackled aloud this time and fell back behind Nat, riding alone in the middle of the group.

Their arrival at the first waystation was marked by the hoot of an owl and the glimmer of a bloated moon between the branches of the trees. It was late, close to midnight Hester guessed, close to the hour of witching. She tumbled off her horse gracelessly, almost landing with her face in the dirt. She managed to catch herself at the last minute. It wouldn’t do her much good to have the entire group laughing at her.

She followed everyone inside, tossing her empty carpet bag on a cot. While they ate she didn’t talk much, choosing instead to take drags of her hideously-scented cigarettas between bites. Afterward she rummaged about the station a little, looking for anything that seemed useful. She found nothing except a small white mortar, the kind for crushing herbs. She bit it. It didn’t break. She tossed it into her carpet bag and returned to her cot.

As she drifted to sleep she eyed up the dog, scratching at the folds of fat beneath her chin. Her nose twitched and she rolled away, closing her eyes to a dreamland.

(OOC to Eddy: Maev & co. can wait a post or two, the others need to move forward before we continue with that part of the story.)

Five days passed, and the party made their way southward along the road. Nat pressed them hard, waking Rosalyn, Darius, and Hester every day before dawn that they might be on the road as soon as light first shone upon the road. He allowed them to eat meals only in their saddles, and would not stop until they reached the last possible inn or waystation that they could reach before dark. All were exhausted, especially Nat and Melin, who took upon the duty of standing watch at night, though their training and experience held true and they never betrayed a hint of carelessness.

Melin stayed close to Lacchi and saw that the dog was well-fed and cared for. He took Lacchi on excursions with him each day, scouting the party's trail to ensure they were not followed, or scouting ahead to determine whether the road was safe. The two of them kept watch together at night, and Melin learned Lacchi's favorite places to be scratched, behind his ears and on his belly. Melin was calm, for the most part, and quiet, though he knew that Lacchi sensed his unease; for he worried about this unknown path they had been set upon, and what would befall them when they left Imlandris. Occasionally he voiced his worries aloud, when they were alone. For what did it matter if he spoke to a dog? Even if Lacchi was admirably smart for a canine, he had the wonderful characteristic of being completely silent, and Melin found that the one-sided conversations put his mind at ease.

"Southward, the road winds between distant farms and villages, and divides before the mountains. There are several passes through, though most are closely watched; especially now. Our king sent word that someone will lead us through, but we trust in little but a hope and a promise. Rosalyn is to lead us to the meeting-place, and our guide will take us through the mountains. And then what have the gods in store for us? Or the goddess, as we will be entering her realm. Have you ever been there, Lacchi? I have, once. It was in the fall, before the rains, when the deserts remained passable. The goddess has much power south of Imlandris, and her people are devout. What are two knights, a woodswoman, a witch, and a paladin to do in such a place? There are forces in that realm that go unseen. I trust my king; I follow my king. I trust my fellow knights. But I do not understand these unknowns that surround our path. Should I see my prince alive, I will give my life against these foes that haunt us. Nat will as well, I know. But is that enough?"

Melin sighed often, deep in thought, and distracted himself with his duties. He endeavored to befriend Hester, though he felt his attempts were a failure and that the woman harbored some ill spite with him that he could not ease. Still, he went out of his way to ensure her comfort on the long ride south, and did anything she bid him so long as it was not against the bounds of his duties. Most of his real conversations were with Nat, typically in the evenings over supper before one of them took the first watch. Melin was heartily glad that Sir Nathan was his companion, for he admired the other man and respected his abilities, even if he was obviously distracted by the loss of his friend.

Nat, despite his worries, was an easygoing sort of fellow, and carried on casual conversation with anyone who was willing during the journey. He had a likable demeanor, such that when he woke the others early in the morning his warm and cheerful smile made it difficult to be angry with him. He constantly offered them reassurances, and supplied eager words of encouragement when morale showed the slightest sign of decay. It was not unusual for him to disappear for several hours on scouting duty, and then for awhile all would seem still and quiet under the watchful eye of silent, gentle Melin, and the horses might walk a little slower for a time. Nat was in fact so eager to reach Aranos that he would have pressed the others on through the nights had it been possible, but he held himself back and felt guilty enough for asking them to ride so many miles in one day. The horses quickly tired at his pace, but they were able to acquire fresh mounts several times along the journey, so Nat was not averse to urging them into a trot for several hours a day when road conditions allowed. He enjoyed his nightly meals with Melin, and absorbed a calmness from the other man that he found essential to his composure.

They passed a military camp on the fifth day, and Nat assured that everyone had a fresh, sturdy horse to see them over the mountains and deserts that lay ahead - even Rosalyn, who thus far had been averse to riding, unless absolutely necessary. Nat assured her that, should she choose to continue with them past her village, the horse would be necessary, and if she chose to remain she could return the steed once she'd sent them on their way. The horse licked the salt from Rosalyn's hands and stuffed its nose against her pockets, searching for hidden snacks. It followed her eagerly as she walked, never questioning why she did not choose to ride.

The village came into sight by mid-afternoon. It was a bustling town, with the duke's keep visible in the distance, and acres of green fields surrounding its center. Here the road divided several times, the main road heading to the east, with forks occasionally splitting off to the south into the mountains. There were three main passes within a day's ride to the east, though Nat knew that all were watched too closely, and if they were to get through undetected by the spies of Aranos they must do so through the wilderness.

He dismounted, facing Rosalyn, and pulled the letter from his pocket. "Rosalyn, as you know, we seek a way through the mountains that will allow us to enter Aranos in secret. To do this we must travel through the wild, and not by any well-used road or mountain pass. We know well that you can guide us, but our cause is urgent, and our king has been advised to allow another guide to lead us through - I'm told, we can reach the other side in a day and a half - as fast as if we were to ride through the nearest pass. Here I have a letter from the one who sends our guide, giving us directions to the meeting place. It says," Nat paused, and began to read the letter, "Near the village of Luray, in the forest that covers the foothills to the south, there is a clearing. An ancient oak tree marks the southeast corner, and in the late winter a brook tumbles down the western slope. Goldfields cover the meadow in spring, and the eagle that nests in the nearby cliffs comes to forage here. In summer a hermit perches his tent at the edge of the trees, and walks down into the village when it pleases him. In winter the snow drifts deep, and all who know the place avoid it. But your guide will remember it as the place she first saw death, and death stared back."

Nat stared hesitantly at Rosalyn, wondering if she'd made sense of the description. It seemed to him as if the one who'd written the letter had known about Rosalyn, her familiarity with the forest, and even her own history.

(OOC to Eddy: the clearing should be relatively close to the village - they should be able to reach it by nightfall, or slightly after - you're guiding now!)

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

Gav stayed his weapon, and suppressed a roll of his eyes as he waved young Laurry's offer of the dagger aside. He nodded his approval at Laurry's explanation, and relaxed visibly at the younger man's ramblings. "That'll do, Lawrence. You don't need to add 'sir' to every sentence, I answer to Gav just as well." He grinned. "It's good to see a friendly face. Well done, saving yourself and swimming here. I've wandered these woods for two days and I've not encountered any other survivors, save you and I-"

"What ho, good fellows!" came a voice from behind them. Gav started, jumping visibly and turning with a soldier's instinct as Damien stepped out of the bushes. Though the monk's greeting was amiable enough Gav knew that they were on a strange island and surrounded by likely enemies, and so he swung his spear around in a smooth, well-practiced motion as he turned and aimed a strike at Damien's left side, intended to knock the other man to the ground. It seemed that either Gav's last statement had been ironically wrong, or they had been discovered by the enemy. "Back, stranger!" he shouted, emphasizing that the monk had best stay out of reach of Gav's spear. "What are you, and what's your purpose? Answer quickly!"

For Lacchi, the time spent with that small group was an enjoyment. He had grown used to traveling all day, though admittedly, his feet were feeling the wear by the end of the third day and his legs were growing leaden by the end of the fourth. But those dull aches were not things to worry him. They were natural, and a body could move passed them if it needed to. Besides, Melin and Nat were likely more exhausted than he was. And the old lady was probably worse off than all three of them combined. She was old, after all, and short, and she didn’t seem to like riding horses. Not that Lacchi could blame her on that front. So whenever he could, he would find the time to run beside her horse or lie beside her at the end of the day. He would lick her hands sometimes, usually after a meal, so he could pretend he was just looking for crumbs. Really, he was just offering encouragement in his own way.

He tried to spend some small time with all the group, because he needed to know them all if he was going to play silly pranks on them. And he had to make sure that they were silly pranks, because if they were taken too seriously, they could ruin the group’s cooperation. He might have enjoyed being a trickster and some small, very small, element of chaos, but he didn’t want to be the one responsible for making all the effort of the two knights wasted. He liked them, and he thought they deserved some fighting chance at achieving their goal. So he could only hope that the prince would be alive when they learned anything of him. A god praying to other gods seemed a little pointless, but he even tried that. Listening to Melin talk brought him to the attempt, and he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

He’d prayed to the gods before he’d know he was a god, and some habits were hard to be rid of, even when they made him feel foolish.

It was that old knight that he liked best of their little group. It may have been that the man was responsible for him. And was the one who fed him. But it was more likely a combination of that as well as the man’s steadfast nature and his undeniable experience, wisdom and worry. It touched the cursed thief’s heart, that a man could feel so strongly and would go to these lengths. So, he kept the fellow company and helped to assure him of the fact that no one was following behind them or waiting ahead. It made the days more tiring, to follow his horse through the brush and to pick up the pace when they were to catch up with the others or move ahead of them. But it was worth it, to know that he could do something to help, when they had asked it of him. And during the nights he would lie at the knight’s feet while he kept watch, dozing and dreaming. Trusting to his senses to alert him should he need to wake and warn the man.

It was the evenings he liked best though. When they would all sit together and sometimes still have the energy to talk amongst themselves. Because then he would listen to their voices and lie quietly next to Melin, whose hands would always, almost unerringly, find some ache or favourite place and dig his fingers in while he licked the soreness from his paws. He liked being among the group, even if no one knew that he was anything more than an intelligent pet. He liked how Melin confided in him and shared small bits of secrets or memories that he likely wouldn’t have otherwise. Sometimes, it made him feel guilty, that he never answered back and that it was his shape that made the man feel as though being so free with his worries was all right. But it seemed to help the fellow, and for that, Lacchi was content to continue until he was found out or they parted ways.

What he knew for sure, however, was that he did not want to see any of them, even the grouchy Rosalyn, die for the prince. He’d never known the man, but he sure was causing a lot of trouble and Lacchi could only marvel that the people beneath his father would go to such lengths to keep him safe. Growing up as a thief in a city that had never had much place for kings, and then living as a dog, he’d never understood that strange fervour that royalty could sometimes bring out of those beneath them. Nor had he ever understood how gods managed it, though he was one himself. Then again, his followers did not know who they followed…

On the afternoon of the fifth day, when they came within sight of the village they had apparently been headed towards all along, Lacchi flopped to the ground with all the grace of the boneless as soon as Nat called a halt to discuss something with Rosalyn. He kept his head up though, with his ears perked and his eyes as watchful as they could be from his low position on the ground. His watchful eavesdropping, however, wasn’t what it could have been, as the vision of those mountains kept drawing his attention their way, and he really needed a drink. His tongue hung so far from his mouth that even for a dog it was probably undignified. He didn’t mind though, the air was growing cooler, and so long as he remained in the shade of Melin’s horse, the wind offered some relief from his overheated body.

There was one part of the words Nat was speaking that snapped his attention around before he could remember that he wasn’t supposed to understand humans so well. It was that last bit. The mention of death. He never liked hearing about it. The very thought made him antsy. He liked it less when it was in connection with anyone he knew, whether they’d experienced it in their lives or whether it was their own death. But most particularly, he disliked when it was his own. And he couldn’t help remembering them. So now, he whined and lowered his head to the ground between his paws. It didn’t help him to stop thinking about it and worrying about what those words might mean for Rosalyn, but it did remind him that he was a dog. And to the people around him, he was only a dog. Drawing attention to himself at the wrong time wouldn’t be good.

Rosealyn took the hard walking well. She had chosen to walk and she was prepared for the consequences. She was used to great amounts of exercise and the fatigue such routine brought. All the same, she always arrived gratefully at the inn each night and went swiftly to bed without a murmur. She was headed home. What was there to complain about?

--She got along well enough with the horse; always having a lump of sugar or a carrot or some such treat available. Naturally, the horse liked her and followed her without complaint. Her opinion of the animal was somewhat less warm, if not unkind: She did not mind it's attentions (and preffered it to people), but she felt it as a large, over-grown pet -despite Melin's assurances- and resented having to make it work so hard and come so far for nothing.

But if it made Melin happy, and kept unity in the group, then why not?

For the most part Rosealyn was silent, not speaking unless spoken to. She was cold, but not unkind and did her best to keep the others moving, and cared for. So while not always encouraging, she was supportive. The hard mountain woman had also taken a like to Lacchi, and gave him favors much as she did her horse. Rose felt him a good dog. He would be of use later. At the very least he wasn't human, and as such, agreeable.

To the knights and the paladin, she showed little interest. She was polite if spoken to, and took orders well enough. Rose was not interested in menfolk, and simply went along to get along. It was apparent that Melin had his own way of doing things, and was not open to suggestion. No point in picking a fight. Even if it did irk her.

As for Hester... Rose did not like Hester. Two steel-nosed women do not get along well, and Rose was no exception to that rule. She felt Hester to be a hard-headed cynic with a dislike of everyone, and a general attitude of trouble. The mountain woman meant to soften the swamp woman. Still, she was not unkind. Merely cold towards the old biddy.--

So it was that on the fifth day she found them nearing home, and by mid afternoon they were passing through the town. So it was that Sir Nat dismounted and gave her his orders. He wanted to get through the mountain in a day and half. Well, it could be done. But, if he wanted backroads and the like they would have to leave the horses.

But that was not her business.

Her business was to take them to a point where they could get another guide.

It was with an impassable face that she listened as he read the description of Winter's Whistle Clearing and the graveyard that lay there. How had he known that? There was not so much as a breath of that which was untrue. And not so much as a breath of it had she uttered to anyone. Oh, the villagers here knew it. She was sure some of them did. But she had never told them.

She lived high in the mountains where there was naught left but her house and the remains of the buildings left behind. (Winter's Whistle had been a good place to camp because it was so close to town.) Somehow she suddenly felt very vulnerable. It was disconcerting to know of someone who knew so much about her, and whom she had never met.

She met Nat's gaze thoughtfully. Then, absently she moved to pour the dog a drink. He looked hot and sweaty. The whining only made him that much more wretched. After she re-shouldered her leather water-skin and patted the dog on the head, she returned to Nat.

"I hope you know what he looks like." It would be a very bad thing if the person who met them wasn't as he was supposed to be.

And she grabbed Greybeard's reigns and headed off to the west. She seemed to be heading in the very opposite direction of where they were going. And in truth, she was. Only for awhile. They didn't know where she was headed, so they couldn't complain. Naturally, he wouldn't want to be seen leaving town; and Rose didn't want to be either. There would be enough gossip to last the place for a year is she was seen in the company of all these people. (Much less, leading them.) Once outside the village she kept up a brisk, but slower pace then they had been taking. To get there untracked, they would have to mind the bushes and the horses.

To Darius, she gave the instructions to hang in the back of camp and wipe away their footprints. He was to pick up a fallen branch and sweep them away. Where the earth was too moist, he could brush over some of the detritus that carpeted the ground.

Everyone was to lead their horses in single file. All must walk on the same side of his horse so that all the foot prints landed inside each other. That made them easier to sweep. Also, because there would be only one set of footprints, anyone tracking would only think one person and his horse had been there.

In addition, all the company was to be careful about the flora. They were to refrain from breaking any branches they did not absolutely have to. No point in leaving a trail.

Lacchi, was scooped up and seated atop Hester's horse. She could not have him running about making footprints and digging up things. The messenger dog became the old crone's responsibility.

If everyone did what they were told, they could make it to Winter's Whistle by nightfall. And that was all she said. From then on the going was silent. At least on her part. The trek through the woods was as uneventful as she could make it. No one was allowed to stop and break ranks for any reason. Food was eaten on the go. They would not make camp until they arrived.

The clearing itself was a goodly size, and just as the letter had described. Though not, readily apparent (for she had not marked them) the graves of her parents were here too. An astute oberver would note that wildflowers did not grow under the oak tree; and it was close to there that Rose tied her horse and spent her contemplative solitude after camp had been set up.

There was no fire at camp, so as to avoid the smoke. The coals were kept to a minimum. Nothing unusual about that. The grass would prevent footprints, so there would be no telling of how many people had visited. The company was as free as they liked to be.

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

Lauwrence quieted himself at Gav's good hearted rebuke, and nodded in understanding as the knight requested to be called by his first name. He smiled at Gav's approval of his survival skills, and was about to say something when the knight's sentance was cut off.

He jumped, because Gav jumped. Laurry however did not draw his weapons. That voice belonged to none other than Damien Claude! That jolly old man wouldn't hurt a mouse. And so it was that his greeting was a bit warmer then Gavilan's.

"Claude! You old dog!"

Despite his injuries the monk leapt deftly away from the spear and dropped his staff. It was a half-second before he responded. He was recovering from the pain of his movement.

"My! My! Aren't you the jumpy one!--Hello little wippersnapper!" Obviously undaunted by the ferocity of the knight's greeting. "Well, don't just stand there, help me sit down."

Laurry immediately placed his arms about the monk's waist and lowered him gently to the ground, addressing himself to Gav. "Claude's a monk from Haine's Chapel. He does odds and ends around the castle. Works some with the troops.--you've seen a lot, old man." And here Laurry bent down to inspect a wound near the clergy man's knee.

"I'm not old yet!" Damien protested. "...Just a scratch." He muttered shoving away the boy's feeble attempt at dressing the wound. And then at Gavilan, "I got thrown overboard from the Glass Lady. Old girl couldn't withstand the battering. Went down I'm afraid."



(Hope I did ok. Lemme know if I need to add anything)

Darius couldn’t help but smile slightly at Rosealyn’s reply, and at her suggestion carefully dismounted. His time in Haven hadn’t really been the most physically strenuous one anyway; some walking would probably get his ‘carcass,’ as Rosalyn had put it, back into good shape again.

While the journey was a long one, but Darius was pleased to discover along the way that it wasn’t a particularly arduous one. The area beyond Haven that led up towards the Aranos border was a civilised one, and so the small group travelled unmolested by any highwaymen that may have otherwise tried to stop them.

In fact, he found that the journey was, compared to many of those Darius had made across the wilder stretches of the world, quite a comfortable, almost enjoyable one. Then again, Darius reflected, there were many things more comfortable than trekking through swampy wilderness or the Prokavian tundra in full armour while being forced to keep an eye constantly open for bandits, goblins or ravenous jahttees. He was tired, yes, but frankly it was nothing compared to the deep, bone-aching exhaustion that encumbered him during hard travel through truly hostile terrain.

He didn’t make much in the way of conversation; Darius wasn’t, and never would be, a people person, and instead kept his own counsel, talking only when spoken to. Most of the other group seemed perfectly happy to do the same in any case.

They were making good progress, come to think of it. Their horses were good ones for the task in hand, stolid and dependable animals that were the sort needed for travel. Generally, Darius found himself following Rosealyn’s suggestion and walking; he spent most of the journey on foot, only mounting up whenever Melin spurred his own horse into a brisk trot.

They reached a town in the foothills of the mountains that marked the border between Aranos and Imlandris after only five days of travelling, and Melin called a group to halt. From within a pocket he took out a set of instructions, and Darius listened with only half an ear, instead keeping an idle watch on the town, sizing it up slightly so he could better orientate himself within it once they entered.

Surprisingly, however, this wasn’t the case. Instead Rosealyn led them into the forest at the edge of the road, ordering Darius to cover their tracks. There was, strangely enough, a slight edge to her voice, as if something Melin had read to her had upset or unnerved her somehow. Still, he could ponder that later.

He picked up a pine branch that had fallen from the edge of the road and took up the rear of the group, scratching the dirt flat over their prints, while taking care to avoid any branches that he might otherwise damage. He was surprised by Rosealyn trying to avoid the town up ahead, but made no comment of that either; something was clearly amiss with their guide, but that would have to wait. Instead, he focussed on the task he had been given of covering their tracks, smoothing dirt and mud into place behind him.

The journey through the forest was a long one, taking almost an hour despite its comparative shortness, but at last they arrived at their destination, a large grassy clearing. Somewhat relieved that his banal and dull task was finished, thanks to the thick carpet of green that would stop them from making any visible footprints. The group dispersed to various parts of the grove, and Darius did the same, tying his horse to a branch of a fallen tree and then sitting down on the trunk, stretching his arms and leaning his neck from left to right in an attempt to work out some of the aches in his joints.

Now all that remained to do was wait.

“Up ye get.” Hester took a fistful of Lacchi’s hair and dragged him across the back of her horse. He hung there, his front legs to the left, his back legs to the right, like a furry rag doll, helplessly panting.

Hester’s horse was to the back of the groups, in front of only the iron-clad paladin‘s who’d been ordered to cover their tracks. Hester could have offered. It was a useful skill she used back in the Troll Country, to prevent any wanderers from finding her little cave under the Mesa.

“Tis an unfair curse you’ve landed yourself with doggie,” murmured Hester, scratching behind his ears. “I reckon your much in the same boat as meself - forced along against your will. And even if you ain’t… Well that don’t bother me.” She bent closer to the dog this time, and smiled. It wasn’t a real smile. Or perhaps it was and Hester simply wasn’t used to smiling. Whichever it was, it looked cold and wicked.

“I know things doggie. I’ve seen ’em.” She sat up straight. “I’m a bottle.” She spoke much louder this time. Loud enough for Roselyn to look round and hold a finger to her lips. Hester replied with a finger of her own.

“Like I was saying doggie, I’m a bottle." She was whispering again. "I’ve got a thin neck and a cork to match. I have your secret doggie - like putting paper in a bottle. I have your secret doggie and someone will have to smash me to get it out. They’ll have to smash me unless I let it out. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not a spiller. I’m an honest women when I want to be. And this is me at my most honest.” She smiled, this time a little more warmly. “I’ll keep your secret doggie. We can be comrades. And in turn when the time comes I’ll call on you for a favour in return. No need to reply immediately. Take your time answering. But you know where to find me…”

They reached the clearing and Hester helped the dog down off her horse and followed him. She landed with a soft thump.

“Ain’t this pleasant?” She said to the group as a whole. She stuffed her hands into her shawls and produced a rather nasty looking block of cheese. She tore a chunk off with her teeth and chewed.

She looked round at the assembled group. We’re an odd bunch, she thought. There were the three knights - two of them king’s men and the third some kind of righteous paladin. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. He had no quarry with her so far, so Hester had none with him. Only time could tell though. Hester wasn’t a woman known for having flocks of friends. She would have to keep an eye on him. It was an act that had already paid off with Lacchi the dog. Perhaps Darius would throw up something interesting for Hester to wrangle. The machinations in her head ticked over like hungry bees, plotting.

Nat and Melin Hester reckoned she had sussed pretty well. They were kings men through and through, loyal, brave and true. Had Hester been someone else she would have commended them for it. But Hester was Hester. She was mean. She was spiky. Traits like those in a world like this were traits which got you killed, bound and battered.

Then there was Roselyn. The powerful woman who repeatedly refused the horse. Hester’s mouth twisted downwards when she though of the woman and wrinkles cracked her face like dried mud. If there was going to be friction between Hester and anyone in the group she knew it would with be Roselyn. They were simply too alike to get along. Hester smothered that thought and then beat it with a club just to be sure. She was nothing like Roselyn. Nothing. The voice in her head had gone a little high-pitched when it had said that. Hester growled.

Finally Lacchi. The dog who was more than dog. Hester wondered when she’d get her answer and took another bite of her cheese.

When Rosealyn decided that he looked thirsty, Lacchi could have blessed the woman, because she was perfectly correct in that assumption. Of course, drinking from her hands could have been considered a little demeaning, but then, so was begging and whining and being lazy. Of course, he would have preferred her choosing her timing more carefully so as not to bring everyone’s attention swinging his way, but they were really just focusing on her and waiting for an answer, or didn’t really care, in the case of some of them. So Lacchi supposed it was well enough that he got to wet his throat and there was little point in complaining of other things beyond his control.

And then, they were off again. Through the village and down the road until their guide stopped them all with a rough word and rougher instructions. Secrets, was it? Sneaking about like thieves in the middle of the day. Not that any of them would have made good thieves, but it was the thought that counted. After all, one would always find it difficult to skulk in daylight. He probably wouldn’t have minded all this sudden intensity to the secrecy had it not been for the fact that it was making him extremely uncomfortable. His stomach felt as though it was trying to force its way through his spine and his spine felt as though it would snap in two at any moment. His head was suddenly lower than he’d ever wanted it to be when compared to his paws and the cursed hound had an epiphany, right then and there. He never, never wanted to ride a horse again…

There was a first and last time for everything; in this case, this would be both. Now he understood why Rosealyn so rarely rode her horse and why Hester always had that scowl on her face. Hadn’t anything to do with habitual grouchiness, he was sure, had more to do with horse riding. He wriggled, trying to get comfortable, but only succeeded in nearly falling off before the old witching woman grabbed hold of his scruff and heaved him back up. Settling him properly and even more uncomfortable than he’d been before. Life sure was looking wondrous today.

But at least Hester was being nice enough to chatter at him and pass the time by giving him a good, solid scratching. Felt good, that did. He sighed and leaned into it as much as he could, tail dusting the air on that side of the horse and thumping the stirrup with each backwards swing. He liked that she felt like commiserating with him, and he instantly decided, right then and there, that if ever she wanted to do some more commiserating together, he’d be up for it. Because commiserating was fun. Especially if it won him a free scratch behind the ears. Maybe she’d even give him food if he was lucky enough to catch her with her hands full of edibles. Well, one could always hope, couldn’t they? Even if it hadn’t happened yet.

But then her chattering turned into rambling and got weirder than he’d been thinking it ought to get. Bottle? What, by the seven shadows of Groos, was she going on about? He rolled his eyes up to try and make out her face, but there wasn’t much that was easy to see. His secret? Shocked and paralyzed as he was by both the words and his position on Hester’s horse, Lacchi was sorely tempted to come back with An’ which secret would tha’ be? But that would have been terribly counter productive and probably would only have affirmed whatever she was guessing. Unless she didn’t think he was actually cursed. Maybe she just thought she knew something, maybe it was all in her head… He’d been careful, hadn’t he? Watchful and circumspect and friendly as any other dog. He’d never forgotten his role, much, had he? Not enough. He hoped.

His tail had stopped wagging, and his ears were back. A most undog-like reaction to what was merely a simple bit of pleasant sound coming from a human paying attention to him. Too late to change it now, but she didn’t much sound like she was fishing, so it probably didn’t matter. She knew something, and whatever it was, it was enough for her to believe he could understand her, and now he’d made whatever doubts she might have had surely vanish. Still, she didn’t say she was going to tell. It wasn’t even much of a threat either… Just a favour. Favours were simple things… Simple enough at any rate. But if he didn’t know what it would be, how did he know if it would be a good thing to promise. He’d learned, he had. The word of a god, even a tricksy one like he was, carried its own weight. It bound the god who spoke that promise to hold to it, no matter what. It was a biding they couldn’t break. Maybe she didn’t know it, or maybe she did, but Hester had set him a troublesome puzzle, and he was sure she’d only wait so long until she decided his silence was a refusal of her terms.

Which might amount to nothing at all, she hadn’t said she’d out him if he did accept her proposal. Then again… Why take the risk of learning what she knew at the same time as all the rest of the group? Not that he was against them knowing, strictly speaking, it was more the essence of what he’d become. Gods didn’t flaunt themselves and they sure didn’t wander about granting favours left, right and centre. He knew these folk were having a hard time of it, or would be finding those hard time soon, and when they did, he would be of what use to them he could be. But he wasn’t going to suddenly transform, snap his fingers and make their quest end well. He was a god, not a miracle worker. He didn’t do the impossible. If Hester was knowing he was a god and told everyone else, they might not believe her, but they’d still have the thoughts on their minds, and then he’d be caught. Staying around wouldn’t be much fun after that, but leaving wasn’t an option he wanted to think about more than he already had. He knew he wasn’t the brave sort like Melin and Nat, or Darius. He wasn’t foolhardy or stubborn the way their guide was and he didn’t have the grouchy, spiky hardness that Hester did. If things got rough, he’d turn tail. But if he could keep them from turning too terrible… He wanted to have that chance.

Still caught up in his thinkings when they reached the old clearing, Lacchi simply tumbled from the horse as Hester lumped his hind end up and over to the other side. He landed with a yelp that was more surprise than hurt, since he rolled rather unceremoniously into a heap, but then picked himself up, stared about dazedly for a moment, then shook himself off and fled.

But he didn’t go far.

He just needed a good stretch and the chance to think properly without needing to act like he wasn’t what he was. So he told himself. But it was mostly to get away from that little lady. He disappeared into the trees, tail tucked disconsolately and dire speed making it quite clear that he hadn’t any thoughts of sticking around near the group any longer. He wasn’t abandoning them, he wasn’t! He just, he just needed to think. So he did.

He slowed apace once he’d gotten far enough to calm his mind and then he turned and began to pace. One way then the other. Back and forth as though he wanted to wear away a path through the roots of the trees around him. Back and forth like the way his mind was going. Giving in or giving up. He’d heard her the night he’d met her, saying she might kill a man with the right incentive. She’d been a grouch and a bother at times, a right old fart. But she was old and seamed by the time still holding her together. And that smile shed given him, when she’d said she was being as honest as she ever was, it had been a nice smile. The god whined and turned about, he didn’t know what to do. But there was that one bit of knowledge that kept running at him from the back of his mind. No matter how many times he eluded it. He turned about again.

They would likely need his help, even so capable as they seemed. And he didn’t want to see them fail just for being a coward. He didn’t want to leave them either. Besides, Old Hester wasn’t a wicked woman, just a hard-bitten old crone. And there wasn’t nothing wrong with that.

Finally, he made up his mind. And once he’d done that, he set his sights back on that clearing, following the trail he’d made running away and walking it back. It took him some time, but not much. Although it was already well past dusk when he returned, slinking from the tree shadows and creeping sheepishly toward the shadow that was Melin. He’d run off…. A trained hound was never to run off. As he made his way towards the old knight, however, Lacchi let himself get sidetracked. Hester was sitting near to where he’d come out of the trees, and there was a very small bit of cheese left in her hands.

His crinkled ears perked when he saw it and his nose quivered as he quested that way, then he finally swung about and trotted over to her side. Maybe she’d count sharing food as being comradely… Keeping his dark eyes unwavering on the leftover cheese, he licked his nose once, then lifted a paw and whined, holding out the black furred appendage for her to take as though he was being a desperate dog trying the one trick he knew to win himself a favour. He would accept her terms, and whatever her request later, he would do all within his power to see it through, because there was no turning back after this point. And no other choice once his word was given.