Mistic Circle ~ Story

Darvoso:
Sofaltis watched as Zeke gave him an enigmatic little smile and then walked off.

(Huh, wonder what the smile was for. Maybe he thinks I'm cute,) came the sarcastic, scathing thought. (I really should just gather up my courage and go wading off after one of these people. Maybe I can get their attention _that_ way?) continued the inner musings. He was vacillating for a bit as to what he was to do next when he managed to catch sight of Zora walking to him.

(Wow.) That was all that he could think of to describe her. (Her eyes glitter, her hair shines, and I'll be damned if her skin doesn't glow!) he chuckled internally. (And she's colour-coordinated too. Gah, listen to my thoughts...,) and then he realized something. _Most_ of these people had mage gift, and quite probably Mindspeech as well. (I could be broadcasting!) he gulped, and _willed_ himself to "hide". (At least I know that works. Wintersky said she never could find me when I did this... even with her better... senses.) He knew from past experiences and the looks that he'd gotten from mages, that he could shield, albeit instinctively. He was also pretty sure that nothing short of a god could find him with magesight or force his shields with a probe. They didn't protect – they were worth a darn from physical attacks, he knew that much. (That was such a silly mistake too, the day I found that out – thank the gods I'm not _that_ stupid anymore. Running into a camp... Gah.) Perhaps if he got training... but that would require finding a mage. (And one that wanted me as a pupil. Likely chance.) Then Zora spoke, and his attentions was slammed back to reality.

"Hello, stranger, you new around here?"

He gazed into her eyes and was quite entranced by the dark green eyes. Just from old experience his mind had already categorized what she truly looked like, so instead of unseemingly gazing at her when she was talking to him, his mind rolled her over, letting him examine her. (It's times like these when I'm thankful for instinct,) he thought with a rush of hormones. And for the first time in weeks, he truly spoke, in fluid common.

He spoke slowly, not wanting to display the nervous state he was in – probably the only thing that showed that was his eyes. He let his voice 'caress' her, as Wintersky had put it.... (Don't think about her now. Not with this woman sitting here. Regardless of whether or not you do more than talk to her casually, don't start comparing the two; it's the worse way to start off a relationship and it’s not fair.) So he played the "gallant" ranger.…

"New?" he queried. "Not truly, I've been here a few days, just waiting for _something_ to happen, maybe involve myself in. Yourself?"

Caiata:
(My, but the threads of time and space are easy to weave now that We have strengthened Ourselves again, are they not?) The soft silken strands flowed around Delane as she drifted through them, the trip that normally would take months lasting but mere hours. (Aye, but that is always the way it is with this strong a beacon,) she reminded herself. (This 'Citadel', and more importantly, this gathering of powerful creatures... the light it creates is so bright....)

The light expanded and danced around Delane, a brilliant ballet of magic, time, and space, before folding back up into itself again. Still in a thick mist form, Delane rolled along the ground, dodging trees and other foliage, before arriving at the edge of a clearing. Within, she could see several figures, but not clearly enough. Instinctively, she knew this was the place she was looking for.

"Here," said Solarin. "Give Banshee to me, and you go through our room to make sure that we haven’t left behind anything we need. " He doubted there would be - Raven was extremely through - but it would give his partner something to do. "I'll take the swift ones to have some water before we go."

Watching the dark-haired figure go back inside, leaving the male one alone, Delane floated to him. Quickly, she did a mind-sweep of him, looking for any ambient emotions. (-Love-) was all she needed to sense, before she moved on to the back of the building, reluctantly leaving the unicorn, the dragon and the male one to themselves.

Behind the building, hopefully out of the sight of any curious onlookers, Delane concentrated for several minutes. The mist shimmered again, brilliantly despite the terrible weather here, and Delane emerged from the luminescent cloud as herself. She stood for a few more moments, letting the rain soak her body as it would any other traveller's, watching with a soft smile as the water darkened the silver of her velvet pants and flattened her silk shirt to her chest, hugging every curve and becoming nearly transparent. Her hair hung in what she knew were exciting strands, framing her face with a rich silver glow. With an internal smile dripping of mischief, she turned and walked around the other side of the building, glancing at the cheerful sunrise above the door and catching the words "Midnight Sun Inn" as she entered.

(Well, well,) she thought. (Let's see what fun we can stir up for Ourselves, shall We?)

Standing in the entrance to the tavern, she took a few moments to look around. She noticed first a colourful bard talking with a very handsome red-haired man. Scanning further, she saw a half-elf sitting with a strangely alluring elven (she assumed) male. Her attention was again drawn as the attractive red-haired male began walking through the door, straight for her. Shaking her hair down into her face, the water droplets spiraling around her in a glittering shroud, she prepared to put on her best pitiful, "help-me" smile, and began to shiver softly, taking a single step aside as he neared her....

Dax & Adrienne:
Pain coursed through her body, overlaid but not relieved by soothing warmth, and Aliaya moaned. She came to her senses and found she was laying face down on the cold, damp ground, darker yet from the blood it had absorbed. With effort, she pushed herself to her knees. Looking around, she saw Dak laying on the ground beside her, his leather vest and silk shirt shredded up his back, bloodsoaked. Ruvan was sitting near Dak's head, his legs wrapped around his face, playing with Dak's soft, blond hair which was matted with more blood. Ruvan's blue eyes met his mother's green and he let out a squeal of amusement.

Memory of the attack surfaced. While there was no sign of the beast, there was quite a bit of blood on the ground – her own, she realized, as well as Dakorillon's; that would be sure to lure in more wild beasts. The Black stood vigil, half over Dak, half over Ruvan.

"We'd better get moving," she commented to the horse. She struggled to her feet, gathered the packs Dak had dropped and attached them to the saddle.

The effort left her tired and sore, but not nearly in the pain she expected. (I thought it clawed me much deeper.)

The Black watched her without moving. Then she led him over to where Dak lay and Ruvan played. Leaving the horse standing nearby, she knelt by Dak and lightly touched his face. Again, Ruvan squealed and burst into a fit of giggles. Aya smiled at him, then focused on Dak.

She tried shaking him and speaking to him, but these efforts failed and her hand came away drenched in blood, sticky and half-dried. (What do I do, Dak? I don't know how to take care of battlefield injuries.)

She spoke to him in his mind. This also gave no response. (Was he dead? There's so much blood.) Other scenes of blood drenched stone flooded her mind, bringing tears to her eyes. (No, not you too.) Finally, she decided to enter his mind fully to wake him.

It was not difficult. His mind was so open a child with beginning Gifts could have entered therein; being unconscious he did not even try fight her. However, his mind was dark and filled with pain. (At least that means he still lives.) Tentatively, she tried to instruct his muscles to move. :Come on, lift your arm,: she coaxed, but it was too hard.

Exhausted, she returned to herself. (Now how am I going to get him on the horse?) She looked between Dak's still body and the Black. (If only I could get the horse to kneel. Well, why not? The priestesses always said if there was a need, I could do almost anything with my gift.)

She closed her eyes and reached toward the Black. Carefully, she navigated his pathways. She had never entered a horse's mind before. She would have loved to linger and explore, but a sense of urgency rushed her on. It was not long before she found the command for "kneel down." She triggered it and returned to herself.

The Black was kneeling and looking at her as if to say, "Well, hurry it up!"

Aliaya got to her feet, pain lancing along her back and sides, but getting fainter. Avoiding Ruvan, she hooked her arms under Dak's and pulled, hoping her movements were not worsening his injuries. Backing into the saddle, she arranged herself so that she could ride. She pulled Dak into the saddle in front of her. She turned him and pushed his leg so that he also was in riding position. Then she adjusted him so that he leaned against her. Once she had Dak settled, she looked at Ruvan. :Come here, baby.:

Ruvan waddled to his mother. She pulled him into the saddle in front of Dak. She entered his mind and showed Ruvan a quick tutorial on how to stay on the horse. Then she moved to the Black's mind and triggered the rise command. She returned to her own body and realized she could not see around Dak's body. She thought of using Ruvan's eyes, but realized he would not be able to see around the Black's head. She finally gave up and decided to rely on her lessons about blind riding. Belatedly, she thought about changing her shirt, but the thought was daunting. (If anyone comes upon us, it won't matter how I'm dressed anyway.)

She nudged the Black and they began moving. Worried for Dak's health, she radiated feelings of hope and encouragement, meant to aid his recovery.

(If only I had Gifts of Healing,) she wished to herself. Her shirt was becoming damper and sticky with his blood, but it seemed as though his head had stopped bleeding.

They rode a long time. Ruvan's cries of hunger notified her of its passage. :I'm sorry, baby, we can't stop.: But she did split her attention so that Ruvan received feelings of calm happiness.

Aliaya had no idea how much time had passed when she noticed the sky was darkening. Dak had not yet stirred. Just as rain started falling, she found a suitable location for a camp.

As she stopped to dismount, holding Dak and Ruvan onto Black, the Black went down slowly to his haunches and then knees, without any mental command from her. She swung Ruvan down with a hand, gritting her teeth at the pain that accompanied the movement. Then she pulled Dak off the Black. He thunked to the ground, and Aliaya cringed in sympathy and apology. A slight moan escaped his lips. (At least he's still in there.) She looked down at the front of her shirt which was bloodsoaked and half-dried to her. The rain began sluicing it off of her.

Aliaya rigged the tent much the same way she'd seen Dak do it the night before. She draped the cloth over a low tree branch and pulled Dak underneath, keeping him on his belly. In the dark she couldn’t' see if he had started bleeding again or not. If he lost much more, he surely wouldn't live.

:Go inside with him, Ruvan.: The baby disappeared into the tent.

Aya pulled the packs off the Black and dumped them into a corner of the tent. She unsaddled the horse, turning the saddle upside down in another corner of the tent. She then sat down, pulled a fruit out of her stash of food, and ate. Remembering Ruvan's earlier cries of hunger, she placed him to her now exposed and rainwashed breast. He ate hungrily. When he was finished, she set him on the ground.

:Don't leave mama, baby,: she instructed.

It crossed her mind to change her shirt, but digging through the packs again did not appeal to her. She promised to change her shirt once she woke up – (Surely I'll wake before him) – and lay face-down next to Dak, her back still aching from the healing of the injuries. Rain pattered overhead. Before sleep overtook her, she noticed Ruvan was at Dak's head again, playing with his hair. It was only half clean from the rain but already it was drying. Warm feelings of happiness radiated from him with a baby's oblivion of injury.

Dakorillon awoke, his whole back on fire, yet soothing hands played along his head and face, and comforting chirrups filled his ears. (Please don't whip me again, Roarke, I swear I'll get it right next time!) he pleaded.

Then his mind cleared a bit and he realized that the chirrups were closer to giggles. He tried to move his arms to grasp the hands, but one of them wouldn't move and the other felt like fire as he felt broken ribs grate. He opened his eyes and Ruvan smiled down at him and clapped in delight. To his left, Aya was laying with her head pillowed upon his arm.

(It worked,) he smiled to himself. (Now I wish to frag, that I had another one.) He moved ever so slowly, pulling his arm out from beneath her head, and then freeing his locks from Ruvan's grasp. Finally, he slowly rose to his knees and then to a sitting position. The tent spun around him and he nearly lost the ground he had gained. (Easy, Dak, easy. If you fall, you'll crush Ruvan.)

When the world settled back down, he reached for his boot dagger and then used it to carefully cut off what was left of his shirt and vest, enlisting Ruvan's enthusiastic help to remove the tatters. His back burned as scabs were torn open where the material had dried into them. There were more than a few moans and he nearly passed out twice more. (Hold on Dak, you've had worse, right?) he tried to cheer himself, but his traitorous mind replied, (not when you were so far from help.)

(Why didn't Aya dress my wounds? I could have bled to death, or those broken ribs may have punctured my lung!) He looked over accusingly at her. Upon further inspection, he saw her shirt, like his, was completely shredded and no longer even covered her.

(Well, isn't that a pretty sight! It won't even leave any scars, I think, which would have been quite a shame on that creamy skin. I'll bet it feels like silk, never touched by the sun....) Thoughts of touching that skin, and what he would do after touching, crowded out even the pain for a moment, until he reached out. Then fire brought him slamming back to reality.

(She wouldn't have laid down half naked just to please you, Dak. Although, injuries make you do strange things. You know that well and enough, old boy.)

Thinking of old injuries, brought his mind back to his own. He reached for one of his bags and, after much painful rummaging where he could feel the trickle of warmth down his back that heralded new blood not rain, he found his medical kit. It consisted of clean torn rags, a pair of tweezers, some burn ointment and some tea herbs to help with wound fever, and a mirror.

(Lord and Lady help give me strength, Luck and Love help make it pretty,) he prayed silently. He pulled out the mirror and set it down while he moved his hair to one side in front of his shoulder. (Look at the shape your hair is in!) he complained to himself. Then he took the mirror gently from Ruvan's hand and gave him a ball of light to play with instead. Making another ball of light, he had it hover behind him, and then held the mirror in the palm of his hand beside his side, so that he could look down into it and see his back.

(Oh, frag,) was his first thought, (it looks like I was whipped with a cat 'o nine tails, laced with metal shards – which is preferable to having your hands cut off.) Much of the skin on his back hung in ribbons, and he was glad that Aya wasn't awake to see it. (Too much for her to deal with.)

Now came the hard part – maintaining two lights, holding his hand still so that he could see, magically lifting the shreds back into place, and magically stitching them together. It wouldn't be pretty, he realized sadly. It took the better part of half an hour to finally stitch up the last piece, and he knew he still had to get it wrapped for the magical stitching would only last three to four days. But that should have been long enough for nature's healing to have taken over, if he didn't tear it again.

He magically cleaned his back from all the dried blood and did his hair while he was at it. He had stitched the furrows on his neck, but the ones on his head seemed to have already stuck back down into place, so he only had to wrap a cloth around his head, leaving his bangs out over the top, which he did first.

Finally, he magically pulled the torn cloths around his ribs – which thanked him greatly – and finished binding his back and neck. (You look like a mummy,) he thought to himself depreciatingly as he surveyed his handiwork in the little mirror.

He then cleaned the blood out of his pants and off the cloak on which they lay. (You know, old boy, you should be dead. The Lord of Luck was on your side once more. But, how many more times? How many more can even He save you?)

He pulled their blankets out of the packs, remaining seated because he didn't trust his body in any other position, and drew the blankets over the two of them. Ruvan, who had become tired, lay down next to his mother. Dak brushed his hand across the little baby curls and smiled. With Ruvan between them with his head pillowed on Dak's arm, Dak put his other arm lightly over Aya, touching her back and side gently to make sure they weren't too sore anymore.

(According to Xenon, it should be completely healed by tomorrow; he said it would heal any minor injury. She must not have been as injured as I thought, but considering the condition I was in, that stands to reason.) He said a quick mental thanks to Xenon, who he worked for on occasion, and almost called friend. Xenon had some rough hobbies that Dak didn't approve of, but then Xenon thought he was a little too light-fingered and a little too much competition for the ladies, and while he wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley, meeting Xenon in a bar was just fine.

Aya shifted slightly in her sleep, turning onto her side, and Dak couldn't help himself as his arm slid around her through the tatters of her shirt and his hand found and cupped one of the warm rounded breasts that had occupied so much of his mind lately. (Don't worry, Ruvan, I don't want to keep them, I just want to borrow them for a little while...) He drifted off before he could finish traveling any further down that road.

The little mage-light bobbed and wove, casting strange shadows against the tent like an out of season firefly and then, "Pop!" it was gone.

Kathryn:
Fallenangel drifted out of the Twilight room with the rest of the erstwhile adventurers. She automatically reinforced her shielding as she strode into the common room, protecting herself against the nearly overwhelming wave of emotion. Distracted, Fallenangel hardly noticed as her bondmate Isis slipped away into the darkness outside the tavern. The black panther flattened her wings against the lingering rain, blending into the night so smoothly that it seemed as if she had never been. (Wonder where _she's_ going?)

:Just reconnaissance work!: Isis's mind-voice said, flavoured with the yellow of amusement.

:Fine, don't tell me then!: Fallenangel Sent back, stifling a giggle at the ludicrous image that had accompanied Isis's "explanation". (Although it's probably just as well,) she sobered suddenly, (with all this mage-power floating around, it wouldn't be hard to 'overhear' us....) Reminded of the seriousness of the situation, Fallenangel continued on to the stables to prepare to leave. Seeing no stablehands in sight, she shrugged and walked down the row of stalls, looking for Donas, her stallion.

(Now if they are like most tavern stables and store the gear near the patron’s horse.… Ah, here we are!) Taking the saddle down from the stand near the stall, she opened the door and placed it on Donas' back. He snorted in protest at the prospect on leaving his nice warm stable, but stood in resignation as Fallenangel finished saddling him, lost in her own thoughts.

:Dirty, stinking, wet, country!: came an exclamation from behind her.

"What's the matter, Isis?" Fallenangel said with amusement, turning to watch her bondmate, looking much the worse of wear, stalk down the aisle-way of the stable.

Isis snarled soundlessly at her bondmate, turning to a nearby stall and swearing at its occupant. :-and _shut up_!: she finished, glaring at the horse.

Stifling a giggle, Fallenangel glanced out of Donas's stall at the stable – full of horses (and other riding animals) nearly wild with fear at the sight and sent of a predator.

"Well, dearheart," she observed, "you certainly do know how to make an entrance."

The panther glanced up from her fastidious washing. With a final glare at her bondmate, she dropped a mental web over the animals, silencing, if not calming, them.

:I've been out scouting the trail,: Isis said, smoothing down her ruffled coat.

:Really?: Fallenangel replied dubiously, looking over the panther's dripping, scraggly coat. :You look as though you've been dragged through the nine hells - facedown.: She missed most of the panther's reply, but could have sworn that it had quite a lot to do with the Gods' breeding habits that led to such mental deficiency that it gave them the idea to create such a country where it rained constantly, and it was,

:_definately_ Bloody Hell.: Isis finished.

Fallenangel turned back to the horse, muffling her laughter in his coat, leaving the cat washing herself furiously.

:In all seriousness, Angel,: Isis stated a moment later, (conveniently giving her bondmate time to compose herself), :I think that you ought to take a look at this.:

Fallenangel sighed, all humour gone. Taking Donas' bridle, she led him out of the stall. :You're probably right, dearest.: They left the stable, noticing the small group by the door ready to go. Before she joined them, however, Fallenangel swung aboard Donas and rode away from the Inn a bit, almost to the edge of the brooding forest, until she judged them to be far enough away from other people. Once there, she calmed the stallion with a word and dropped all her shields.

The first thing she Felt was a surge of emotion from the Midnight Sun. Anger/humor/lust.... Red/yellow/orange... she blocked them out ruthlessly. Extending her awareness towards the forest, in the direction of the Citadel, she followed the path that the group was going to take, scanning for the colourful, shifting auras that said _life_. For the first league from the Inn, she Felt nothing but the small blues and greens of animal life – contentment and caution tucked into sleeping-holes, or on the prowl for food. Then, she suddenly Felt a bright flash of gray/red/white - pain/anger/hunger. It was gone in an instant. Fallenangel scanned the area again, but found nothing more out of the ordinary. Drawing her senses back again, she opened her eyes and gazed into the forest.

:You felt it.: It wasn't a question.

Fallenangel took a deep breath. :Yes.:

After gazing into the forest a moment more, she turned Donas and headed back to the small group in front of the Inn.

Izzy:
(There is rain down the back of my neck,) Atalaya Silverflame thought, gritting her teeth and peering ahead into the storm, (and I can't say I'm any too fond of the sensation.) Not being able to make out much ahead except for the general path, she mainly stayed on the horse and waited for the rain to clear up or to get to the inn. Whichever came first.

As it happened, it cleared up about half an hour away from her next stop, though the sky still was a downright sickening shade of grey. Atalaya turned back, checking the bags slung over the back of her normally-gray mare, and found them mostly dry and undamaged. The comfortable weight of the bastard sword strapped over one shoulder already gave her the knowledge that nothing was wrong there. Flipping back the hood of her cloak, she continued on her journey.

Five minutes away from the inn, the Karilanth warrior reined Cyclone to a halt and cast her thoughts into the future. (Well, well, well. What are you doing here, Solarin?) was her first thought, and then her hands clenched in surprise and anger. (Solaras! That bastard Savar's _alive_? I'd dearly love to get my hands on whichever fool accomplished _that_.) Atalaya paused and frowned. (Of course, I'm going to have to go with them. Whatever crew Solarin's picked up, that is. Damn,) she grimaced as she started to hurry onward, (and I thought I'd get a break.)

-*-

The group apparently waiting to start out was a bit larger than her foresight had shown. Nodding politely, she rode around the crowd and up to Solarin, halting Cyclone beside his mount and hopping to the ground. The tall warrior looked around with deep brown eyes, noticing several people, human and otherwise... and a dragon? Atalaya blinked and unconsciously reached for her sword before stopping herself.

(If it was a danger, my foresight would have shown her in more prominence. Or it'd have eaten me.) Relaxing, she turned her attention to Solarin's companion. _Not_ elven, though it might have seemed that way on first glance. Small woman. Black hair.

Atalaya smiled and extended a hand to Solarin. "Good to see you again, friend. Been a while. I hope you've no objection to my accompanying you," she said fluidly, before adding, "I see you've picked yourself up a human. Does it bite?" Her tone was only half joking, despite the smile on her face.

Kathryn:
Fallenangel joined the small group of travel-ready adventurers where they had gathered near the front of the Midnight Sun. She nodded to the dragon and smiled at the other assortment of magical beasts.

"Hello, all...," she said softly while projecting feelings of calm. Fallenangel thought it best to be on good terms with them – all of them, from the dragon to the unicorn, as well as the pegasus and the huge sheep. They looked as if they would have no trouble disposing of her if they considered her a nuisance. She quieted her stallion Donas with a bit of difficulty; he wasn't used to the presence of a dragon and was _very_ skittish. She rode him over to where Shadowblade and Solarin were, and swung down from her mount.

:Are you going to tell them?: Isis asked, referring to the flash of emotion that Fallenangel had Felt in the forest.

:Tell them what? That I Felt something that may be dangerous on our route? That I can't find it again? They'd laugh, at best. At worst, well....: Fallenangel tightened Donas's girth and turned to Solarin and Shadowblade.

"Well, the rain may finally be letting up," she offered to them. "Will we be leaving soon?"

Andi:
Etain looked up as Fallenangel came towards the group waiting outside the Inn.

"Well, the rain may finally be letting up," she offered to them. "Will we be leaving soon?"

She nudged Fae towards the small group, catching the last few words of Fallenangel's comments.

"I hope so," she muttered just loud enough for those nearby to hear. "I keep feeling edgy. Like there's something bad building in the distance and it's coming nearer. Any idea why? At least this infernal rain has stopped...." She looks slowly around. "Who are we missing? Where is everyone?"

Axe:
Xenon paused on his way to the door as Aggy moved over to him like a ship of grace, leaving a wake of stares and wonder in her wake. He glanced towards Sand, but she was occluded from his view by a post and section of wall here near the door. He was sure it would take folks a while to saddle their mounts and be ready for this night's jaunt. Aggy's bountiful dual prows moved up beside him and he took the proffered view with all the joy of a 12 year old. He just never got tired of such views. They never got old. They never ceased to amaze and delight. Oh... paeans to Brea….

"Can you do something about this rain? Oooh... maybe... make it stop?"

(Wench,) he thought. (Baiting me when she knows elemental magic isn't my forte. And in public too. Well, no thought but to answer the challenge).

"Oh hello, Aggy dear, are you still here?" he purred. "I would be, of course, be delighted to assist you in this small matter. We couldn't have you traipsing out there in the rain and getting a cold." He stared into her eyes like a snake views a bird, small movements of his head moving her into his pattern and his eyes laying bare her soul. "Such a Fair and Lovely Lady doth, in truth, deserve better. I shall handle the matter forthwith and you needn't trouble yourself over it yet a whit."

Xenon laced his arms about her waist, pulling her tight in the soft glow of the common room lights, her hands at his shoulders away from her fan and other deadly toys. He smiled a friendly smile, his eyes full of burning passion. (Unfeigned in truth,) he thought. He then, softly, for just a moment, with all the urgency of true passion, placed a kiss upon her fair lips.

"Hate me not lovely one," he whispered to her ear, then moving his cheek across hers to again stare into her eyes. "We have a history, dark and light. Yet it is a history, and now is... well.... Now. Now is eternal, and in it we can be anything we wish. It is up to us to decide." He smiled at her. "And now, I must go and wipe the sky free of the dreariness which might trouble you, and give you a silver moon, perhaps, to glisten with dark rainbows in your sweet hair.... I go now." He turned and swiftly approached the door.

Standing in the entrance to the tavern, Delane took a few moments to look around. She noticed first a colourful bard, talking with a very handsome red-haired man. Scanning further, she saw a half-elf sitting with a strangely alluring elven (she assumed) male. Her attention was again drawn as the attractive red-haired male began walking through the door, straight for her. Shaking her hair down into her face, the water droplets spiraling around her in a glittering shroud, she prepared to put on her best pitiful, 'help-me' smile, and began to shiver softly, taking a single step aside as he neared her....

Xenon's eyes began to embrace the form of the door, but were immediately locked in combat for attention to the dream in silver grey before him. His heart leapt at her form – so inviting – her face so fair with eye ridges upswept – deep mercury eyes and hair of moon silver aglow with the moisture from without the Midnight Sun.

(The Moon has come to me...,) he mused as his body carried him to her, her just avoiding him with a small step to the side. Her lip quivered with an innocence so pure, and her stance was so....

:Xenon my own: Kang said, :oh be careful of this one she is death and she is to corrupt i see her you must look to see oh please see Xenon my own....:

Xenon stilled himself, and stilled his soul, his emotions, his lust, his care – until the wave in the midst of a torrent became as a sheet of liquid glass over deep deep water. To his sight, her taint of Death and Corruption were a dark beacon, promising a kindred soul in the Arts of Darkness – if not in their use. He noted the symbol of Humissa of the Pyerkind inscribed into her delicate shoulder, and saw how it was become the black of Sardiek. His mystic studies into the arcane lore of the dark granted him so much, and his sight gifted him with the aura, no, _sense_, of timelessness which surrounded her, and the burn tang smell of acridity which spoke Daemon taint to his soul, senses and mind.

He smiled, a knowing smile and one of recognition, allowing her to read it and see he had seen her for what she was. Inside, deep beyond the level of sight, or senses, he waged war on his own soul and desires – (for sex? for Power? to possess her?) – and only through the schooling of one who was Adept at the arts of summoning creatures of darkness and beauty – succcubi beauty – lilith beauty – dark dark beauty – did he win that war... for now.

"Hello sweet one," he spoke. "I would taste your candy and softness... but do not think I do not know it," he whispered so so softly, his eyes alight with humor, with desire still kindled, with a Will as solid as bending and as strong as Life. "Surely we will talk. This fire of souls you see is embroiled so deep in plots of many many... you should assess the beauty of the pageant before you select you favorite actors. As for me, I have a small errand to accomplish for the nonce. When you desire, seek me in the company of this party of Fools and Heroes, and I will tell you much... or little… as your tastes desire. Let us have the drink of wine – so red in the companionship of powers this night – before we decide to spill the red of Life from each other... or another. Dark gifts and fantasy...," he spoke, caressed her shoulder in passing, and then moving out into the rain.

Once in the rain, the penumbra of its passing over his rain ward giving a soft glow, he continued to stride away from the Inn, out towards the edge of the wood. There he found a field – filled, in the dark, with the many bluebell flowers of a little girl’s delight.

(Oh is my soul not stirred to poetry this night!) he cried within himself. (Oh the fair and the dark, the sweet, the sublime, the sable....) He stood there, in the rain, a moment, then stilled his soul and thoughts for the work at hand.

From within Kang's form he withdrew a Stone of Power, taken long ago from some hapless mage of Air and Weather by Savar. He had gifted Xenon with it on a whim – for a gift Xenon had given him once upon a time... and had, quite likely regretted it ever since. Now it was clean... and all Xenon's own. Though Xenon's access to the Magic of the elements was limited, this granted him a conduit from his own mastery of Summoning to the Realm of Air. He gripped its blue-white cool firmness in his right hand, and summoned but a trickle of power... which fed into a carefully warded hidden river – (so many mages about hmmm?) – which then pooled into a moment of Power.…

:Teeleekeereekeet I SUMMON THEE,: he sent through the conduit in his hand; directly into the Realm for the Spirit of Wind and Weather he sought. As the Summoning went forth, he mused to himself that it was a handy thing to have made friends... well so to speak any way... with a Lord of Air....

....and the Spirit arrived. No fanfare or flare of magic. No gusts – no flashes of lightning. These were unneeded by Teekee and not his/its style. Teekee smiled down on Xenon, his favourite little mortal... and drank deeply from the proffered Power. Such a sweet drink and so fine a night... Xenon was known to him for Xenon's thoughtfulness in such things. When a call from Xenon came, he always could not wait to respond. Such fun was sure to be had and such power gained.

:Hello Xenon small friend!: the Prince of Air sent. :What would Ye have on so fine a night? If ‘tis a simple thing then I shall grant it Thee forthwith my friend, and if a large I am sure accord between us can be reached!: Teekee waited, hunkering down. His translucent thirty-foot tall form with great wings folded in and shields drawn tight felt the presence of sooo many Adepts. (A convention?) he wondered. Then he felt the joy of elven sunshine in some, and a waft of fair Karilanth and began to worry. Hopefully he had not spoken in too much haste. Surely Xenon would not have him harm such as these?

:Hello Prince Teekee!: Xenon Sent. :A fine night it is! I have called you here my friend to help out a group of poor travelers setting out on a great quest. Though you and I do so love this rain and the storm, they are not so happy with it as we. Perhaps, you could do such a small thing as to take it, if it be your pleasure of course, a bit to the south and east, where there is news of a drought? That is the small thing I would ask of you, my friend, at this time, and sorry I am I will say to have not the time for long converse with thee.:

Teekee smiled at Xenon's wily words – as always. He loved to play the games of words and subtlety with this young fine halfblood, and many a fine night they had spent talking in far places and wiling away the time with such activity. He was not fooled of course. He knew exactly who would get the credit for this deed, and it wasn't exactly small per se... but it would be a fun as well as fine exercise. And it would help a goodly group and Teekee was a goodly soul.

:Oh surely I will friend Xenon, though I am not to be fooled as to whom will shower in the glory of this great feat! Send again, small one, when you have time to talk and a mood for high winds... and there will I be.: Thus saying, Teekee, Prince of Air and Weather dissipated in a rush of wind up, up, up into the sky.

(Not fooled? No I'm sure you are not Teekee my friend,) Xenon thought with a smile of pure pleasure unfeigned. Many a night had he spent in conversation with Teekee and it was always a blast... heh!. He smiled again at his own humour and then he sighed, and took from one of his cloak's inner pockets a small bag filled with salt, powdered obsidian, and, as a final touch, some powdered malachite. He cast a handful into the air. Of course such preparations were unnecessary for him, but they both eased the casting and made the result more beautiful.

The wind caught the dust and whirled it into a smoky outline, taxing Xenon's control of Air nearly to its limits. The form of a coach built on runners and floating in the air, took form, and tied to it were six ghostly steeds, black as midnight with rainbow shimmers in their coats. Their jesses were of smoke, it seemed, and Xenon allowed them to remain so – a tantalizing challenge and gesture of beauty to his fellow Adepts hereabout. The coach solidified, as did the steeds – the coach a delight of black wood, green and black velvet, two triple seats at the fore and rear inside, and covered in intricate carvings – while the steeds became matched stallions with eyes of green swirls and hooves seemingly made of malachite... none of which came closer than a foot to touching the ground.

(There,) Xenon thought. (That should fit all of the stragglers. I can just see the bevy of fine ladies inside, ensconced with me therein, riding throughout the day in style. And it is _still_ much smaller that that warsheep! My what a massive beastie that is!) Xenon chuckled to himself and then, with a jaunty spring, leaped up into his carriage. He settled back and commanded the horses to take him to the front of the Midnight Sun.

He arrived just as did many of the others. He pulled up to the door, maneuvering the black steeds with a thought so that a poor astonished human mercenary fellow near the door, looked, to an observer, for all the world, like a liveryman. He settled, in comfort, back into the velvet seat, as the last drops of rain stopped falling, and the sky took on a fresh cleaned velvet dusk that matched, oh so nicely, with his carriage... and his plans.

Caiata:
Delane took one last deep breath as the attractive man approached her. She sighed as she watch him with the human, slipping his arms around her and kissing her. (Oh, do not tell Us he loves as well... that will make the task so much harder. Then again, there is nothing like a good chase, no?) Setting her pitiable act into play, she smiled at him wanly, her dark eyes meeting his own. For a moment, he paused, and seemed to look at her, not just with his eyes, but with more.

(-Understanding-) was the only clue her mind would give her. Then he smiled, and she knew suddenly somehow that he too knew... knew what she was. (Impossible,) her mind told her. (We are so very far, far indeed, from the Island of Pyer, how could he know of Us.… We must be mistaken.) Another look at him and she knew this was not true. He knew... A moment of fear swept over her, thick and rich with its urgency. (Ah well, We couldn't very well expect to go entirely unnoticed.) She strengthened her smile and straightened her posture - but just a bit.

"Hello sweet one," he spoke. "I would taste your candy and softness... but do not think I do not know it," he whispered so so softly, his eyes alight with humour – with desire still kindled – with a Will as solid as bending and as strong as Life. "Surely we will talk. This fire of souls you see is embroiled so deep in plots of many many... you should assess the beauty of the pageant before you select you favorite actors. As for me, I have a small errand to accomplish for the nonce. When you desire, seek me in the company of this party of Fools and Heroes, and I will tell you much... or little as your tastes desire. Let us have the drink of wine so red in the companionship of powers this night before we decide to spill the red of Life from each other ...or another. Dark gifts and fantasy...," he spoke and caressed her shoulder in passing, then moved out into the rain.

(The voice, so rich.... We could have fun with this one indeed...,) Delane mused as she listened to the whispers. Turning to him as he left, she whispered to him as well. "Dark gifts and fantasy are just the beginning of what there is to find within me, m'lord." To accentuate the sentence, she sent him a few simple emotions…:-desire- -lust- -pleasure-:... and backed them with a dusky look as she traced the symbol on her shoulder lingeringly.

(The knowing-one spoke of a Party... We do wonder if this means an adventure?) The thought of an adventure excited her. (Perhaps they are travelling to this Citadel. We will not have to recruit them for it? What better luck could you have given Us, my dear Sardiek?) Turning to the door again, with one last lingering look at the half-elf now accompanied, by a fascinatingly beautiful woman (-jealousy-), she adjusted her clothing and followed several minutes behind the dark knowing-one. As she walked through the door and outside into the pleasantly not-raining evening, she took a moment to communicate a few simple thoughts to the half-elf. :-longing- -acceptance- -invitation-:

Without waiting to see his responses, she turned her gaze to the sky and smiled, watching the silver moon she felt so akin to....

Dax:
Zora loved the way the half-elf gazed into her eyes before controlling himself. His body still inclined towards her somewhat, clear body language that he was interested. She listened to the slow drawl in his voice, at odds with the glitter in his eyes that let her know that he was much more interested than he was letting on. (Who needs to read minds, when you can read bodies?) She played with the thought, like a kitten playing with a mouse. Then, her sharpened senses smelled his rush of desire and she knew he was hers.

"New?" he queried. "Not truly, I've been here a few days, just waiting for _something_ to happen, maybe involve myself in. Yourself?"

"I arrived yesterday, but I was... indisposed... from the rain, you understand? I have a delicate nature." Zora, smiled sweetly, her eyes lowering demurely, before gazing earnestly into his, leaning forward slightly to allow him a glancing shot down her loose blouse to her very ample bosom. She smiled slightly as he took the bait.

"My name is Zora, what is yours, brave adventurer?" she queried, placing her hand lightly on his arm. Her other elbow rested on the table and that hand traced the rim of his glass in slow, suggestive circles, her every motion a seduction of the senses. She continued, before he could reply.

"And, what are you going to involve yourself in?" This last item was said with her lips mere inches from his tender, elven ears – warm, sweet breath fanning lightly across that most sensitive – (and little-known erotic zone, outside the elven population) – portion of elven anatomy, warming his desire further. Her tongue flicked out lightly and she felt a little _zing_ of electricity as she touched his ear tip. Then she drew back slightly to look into his eyes, all innocence and promise in hers.

Sorchafyr:
Sand finished the last song and stood up to the acknowledgement of the Inn. She inclined her head and exited to the bar in a swirl of skirts. She slid into the kitchen area where her pack had been stashed until she could claim a room. Since she would no longer need accommodations for the night, she had bargained some travel food in return for the evening’s performances. She quickly changed into her travel clothes, seeing that the kitchen was unoccupied for the moment. The clothes, although dried somewhat in the heat of the kitchen, were still sodden and uncomfortable.

(I hate cold!) she thought vehemently. (Although,) she continued dismally, looking out the small window, (at least the rain has stopped. However, this night could hold worse things besides being wet. I don't suppose this is as bad as it will be).

Her deft fingers began unbraiding her hair, removing the beads, string and feathers from them. She paused as she came to the last one, closest to her face on the left. She remembered Xenon's fingers in her hair and how he had toyed with them almost absently, but Sand was sure he was not unaware of the effect it had had on her. She decided to leave this one in, although she did slide the feather out of the end to tuck in the small bag with the rest of the decorations. Xenon had seemed a bit distant and, in some indefinable way, harder, when he left the back room, but there was no mistaking the look he gave her as he left the inn. Thinking about it, some of the cold her body felt began to warm.

Sitting at the bar, waiting for the barkeep to find a spare moment to gather her food, she glanced obliquely at Seashimmer sipping a glass of wine. (Perhaps I should speak to her. She is still an enigma to me.) Then she realized that, after having just given a performance, she really didn't have the energy to figure out who to be when approaching the lovely healer. Collecting her food and scanning the room, she realized most of the others were no longer in the inn, so she went to the front door and opened it. (I really don't have the energy for this either,) she thought, her eyes lighting first on Agalein and an unknown beauty. Then she saw Rainbow standing a little away from everyone.

Dee had quickly changed into pegasus form. :That's _so_ much more comfortable!: she laughed in Rainbow's mind, :I don't know how humans can live with it!:

Rainbow smiled back, despite the fact that the rain was still dripping. :Dearheart - we're used to it!: Suddenly the Bard approached her. She asked Dee to linger a bit so Sand could speak to them in relative privacy.

The Bard dropped a curtsey, and Rainbow smiled down – she hoped not condescendingly as she liked the Bard. "No need to curtsey. I'm not near Animi, and contrary to popular belief, Royalty (at least Animiian) doesn't play on rank."

"Fair night to you, your highness," Sand said in a cultured, musical voice. "I wonder if I might ask you something of a favour. I have a question, and know not whom to ask. Quite honestly, most of the others in our company are rather frightening and you seem kind. You see, the only thing I know of magic, despite my long and varied travels, is from stories and rumours. It is rather embarrassing, but...," her voice sank even lower, and even through the darkness of evening it was obvious she was blushing.

Rainbow smiled down. "Come on! We're all in this together so there's no point in hiding dark mystical secrets. Well, at least not if you're honest, which I suspect you are!"

Dee quickly spoke in her mind. :She is, remember _I_ have _some_ empathy!: Then Dee quickly spoke to Sand. :If we can help you we will – here get onto my back; it'll help you travel faster. Huh, if I weren’t so light I'd fly, but only Erelan can manage THAT one!:

Sand looked around quickly, not sure where the beautiful, soft voice had come from. Then she had a sudden suspicion and looked over to the pegasus. The eye of the pegasus held a glint of gentle amusement, as if the beautiful animal somehow knew she had never been Spoken to before, and Sand was not really sure she had not imagined the whole thing out of desire. Sand spoke quickly – not yet, Rainbow suspected, quite ready to accept a pegasi ride.

"How can you tell if someone is using magic on you? And are there such things as wards, really? Can you stop magic if it is focused on you?"

Rainbow smiled. Wards she could cope with!

"Yes there are wards!" She smiled again at Sand and then let her in on the private joke. "I learnt that the hard way, you see. I live in the palace in the suite next to my parents, and, um, they're quite young, and when you can mindspeak and so can your parents, you need to be able to shield at night! I got taught by a friend of mine at the same time as Dee as she has problems in the Pegasi complex!"

Rainbow quickly bent down from Dee's richly embroidered, but now ruined saddle, and placed her hand on Sand's head. "In reply to the question about 'can you see magic?' I can a bit, and I suspect your Talent – yes you have got a large one – is close enough to mage-gift. Here, let me... yes, there we are. You should be able to see auras now and where they stretch from one person to another shows if your being manipulated."

Rainbow quickly tired, _that_ particular spell – extending 'other-sight' to another person was hard, and she soon removed her hand, but only after noticing a thin connection between Sand and Xenon – not enough to send thoughts down, but enough for a little tiny bit of manipulation....

"I'll teach you how to do that for yourself, and shield yourself if you want," Rainbow offered.

Sand looked stunned. "Oh, thank you," she breathed, "that was... fascinating. I would like to learn that. Are you really sure I can?" Before Rainbow could draw breath to answer, Sand continued. "But maybe not just right now. I have some things I need to think about. You are as kind as you are gracious, your highness, but I must have a little time to find my own song again." Abstractedly curtsying again, Sand did not leave her so much as move off to the side of the group, her expression making it clear that she was focused well within her own thoughts.

Dax & Adrienne:
Dak awoke in the thin light of dawn to the sound of dripping trees and the feel of something caught in his hair. He started to move to catch whatever it was, but PAIN flashed through his body, followed by the desire to never move again.

(Oh, Dakorillon, you've really done it this time,) he berated himself. (You had to go jumping in, slaying monsters and rescuing damsels.) (‘You listen to Roarke, boy, look before you help people, see what it will cost you, see what they will pay you, Kory,’) intruded into his thoughts. He tried to shake that mental voice away but it was so hard in his weakened state. With his perfect memory, that voice from the past was just as strong, and the feeling of dependence just as seductive.

(Why are you in my mind so much lately, Roarke? Why can't you just stay dead?) he pleaded with his memory. Dak couldn't figure out why he was thinking so much about Roarke – his mentor, his tormentor. (Funny how the one is part of the other word.) It was almost as though he had been Communing recently – the total communication of elves where their minds and souls are laid bare to one another for understanding. He had learned years ago not to do that with anyone.

Roarke had been a Mindspeaker with a sadistic bent, and had taken a very young orphan and caused him to be addicted to Mindcontact. Roarke had used it to control him to the point that someone reading his thoughts made him protective and amiable to their requests, and full contact left him shaky, wanting more, like a drunk needing that next drink. Communing was worse, not only did it bring back memories of Roarke, but he would hang onto that person's every whim; anything they wanted would be granted, as long as they caressed his mind with that oh so seductive touch – the only touch that would bring true pleasure, as its absence brought true pain. Pain that he had learned to live with, like an alcoholic learning to live without drinking, but still craving it.

Dak was feeling that shakiness now. Only the physical pain of his injuries allowing him to put it behind him. (What is that?) He was recalled to his waking dilemma by another tug at his hair. Dak opened pain and sleep-blurred eyes, to see two blue eyes staring smilingly into his own. (Who? Oh, Ruvan.)

(Now, if it was only your mother staring so happily at me,) he thought with a touch of desire laced with humour. (If she _was_ staring at me like that, I would wonder if there was soot on my nose or something.) He grinned and Ruvan grinned in response. Dak knew it was no use voicing his thoughts to Ruvan. For one, it would wake Aya; for another, on his walk the previous day he had realized that Ruvan was deaf. Dak knew enough beggars and orphans to realize the signs and he felt a touch of sadness for Ruvan's loss, but he had the knowledge that he could learn to compensate, and had in fact began to teach Ruvan the Thieve's signs for "give" and "want".

Ruvan patted Dak's head again and smiled. Then his face screwed up to let out a cry. Dak reluctantly released his hold on Aya's breast and touched Ruvan's lips with a finger, costing himself a little pain in the process. Ruvan stopped before the cry came out and looked quizzically at Dak. Dak took Ruvan's little hand in his and repeated the sign for "want", and then smiled. Dak let go and tapped Ruvan's hands, motioning him to make the sign himself. Ruvan concentrated until his hands did what he wanted, then he looked to Dak for approval.

Dak smiled again and stroked the baby curls – the sign for approval. Then, as reward was necessary, he reached over to the pack that he had dragged near to him last night, knowing he would be _very_ sore this morning. He pulled out one of the apples and began biting off pieces, sharing the small pieces with Ruvan when he made the appropriate sign, and swallowing a few himself, in the process.

The fruit was like manna to his parched tongue and his belly rumbled in response. When the fruit was gone – including the seeds – he decided to get up, for another call of nature waited. He made a ball of light, red and blue swirled together, and held it out to Ruvan, who quickly made the "want" sign again. Dak lightly tossed the ball to the back of the lean-to, causing Ruvan to crawl off to chase it.

(Okay, Dak, time to rise and scream!) he thought to himself, using humour as a shield against the knowledge of the pain to come. (It's just stiffness. Everything's bound down tight, right?) He began levering himself up slowly, gritting his teeth against the pain and soreness. Finally, sitting up, he held still to let his spinning head and swimming stomach settle. (Don't lose breakfast, Dak, there isn't any to spare.)

He looked over to the now exposed Aya and admired the curve of her hip and the soft smooth skin of her back, marred only by the lightest of pink scars. Anger flared for a moment, as he thought of the Demon/goblin that had attacked her – some directed at the goblin, but mostly directed at himself for letting her get injured to begin with.

(If you hadn't been staring at her, you would have noticed the creature sooner. Let the little head rule the big one again – see what it got you. So, no more, Dak, keep your mind on the business at hand. She's too good for you anyway; she's a noble lady and married to boot. While a dalliance would be nice, it isn't good for her – or, ultimately, for you, my boy. Luck and Love, why me?) He finished bemoaning his fate. (You fall in love the way the town idiot falls into mud puddles, and it does you about as much good as that would do the idot. Besides, right now, you can’t do anything without passing out, and what would she think about your prowess then? Luck and Love! Don't think about her!)

To help himself to that end, he used an acrobatic technique to rise to a crouch without using his hands. His motion and a low groan caused Aya to mumble and roll over in her sleep, exposing her ample breasts and flat stomach in peek-a-boo style through the tatters of her shirt, in a way that was much more alluring than sheer nakedness.

(Oh, Dak, get out of here now while you can,) he counseled himself before taking his own advice and exiting the tent. The morning was crisp and smelled of rain-washed pine and clean wetness. He almost stretched, before catching himself and stopping that folly – instead slowly straightening. The world spun slowly around him and he knew he had lost a lot of blood; it would be days before he could walk without holding onto trees, much less fight. He made his way slowly, over to a thick bush, not too far away, but far enough to hopefully not draw in too many predators. When his morning call was taken care of and he had rested a bit, he started to make his way back, but found himself looking at Black.

The Black turned, aligning himself beside Dak. Dak put an arm over the Black's back and clucked once. The horse moved slowly, supporting him all the way back to the tent. (A better trained horse than you realized when you stole him,) he thought to himself. (Hmm, some knight is pretty unhappy with me right now, I'd wager. Fight? What is it that is weighing on me about that?) Dak wracked his mind, pulling a picture of last night to the fore of his mind, then running the scene forward to today, and then backwards to yesterday morning.

(My sword!) he finally realized. (I had my sword yesterday, and I haven't seen it since! Luck and Love, she left my sword!)

Just then, the object of his unhappiness emerged from the tent and straightened up. Bringing her face to chest with him. She looked up into shocking blue eyes, a silver-blonde lock falling so endearingly over the white bandage around his head. Anger in those eyes, instantly changed to desire, sharp and smoky. Then it was gone and only concern and bland interest in her well-being remained.

"Good morning, Aliaya, I trust you slept well?" he questioned casually.

Typo:
Erelan watched the others prepare to leave in characteristic silence, scarcely moving but for the twitching of her tail tip and the occasional restless rustle of wings. She had spent a little time putting herself to rights as the crowd milled about, slinking into the stable to dry off and rub away the mud with clean hay, while avoiding as many horses as possible. There were a few still in the spacious stalls of the inn stables, and they eyed her with suspicious fear, recognizing the scent of a large predator as surely as she recognized their warm, grass-and-hay-scented bodies as possible prey.

(Not as if I'd actually eat you, silly things,) she thought with a snort. (I'm full-fed; you belong to others, and besides,) she thought with a touch of distaste, (you're all fat and sleek as butter with grain. Mama may have liked her kills plump and lazy, but I've no liking for a mouthful of lard. Give me a forest hind any week of the year... or better yet, point me toward hunting grounds and let me find one for myself.) She scrubbed away the last of the drying mud from her tail and had a good roll in the large, soft haystack to round out her makeshift bath. Delicately preening a wingtip, she headed back toward the open courtyard, winging up almost soundlessly to the roof of the stables so that she could watch from above.

There were things down in the darkness, some of which made her very, very nervous. The growing not-quite-darkness above the trees in the distance suggested that dawn would be along shortly, and she wanted to be well away by then. There were many in this party that she did not quite trust, and several she did not trust at all, but for the moment, everyone seemed to be heading in the same direction. She watched as the red-headed mage paused to speak to one of the other members of the group, then pulled her close before moving on his way to the next fair face. The tiniest hint of a wry smile touched her eyes. Apparently, this one was quite fond of the females of his species... and no doubt several others!

(You are a predator, as I knew you to be, but this is a game in which the lines of hunter and prey are very thin indeed.) Her tail tip flipped slightly, tapping softly against the wooden shingles of the roof. Young she may have been, but it would have been impossible to study the various races for over a century without learning the nature of this game.

She turned her attention away from them, letting her mind wander over the slowly-growing, slower-moving group. There was a new elven-kin now, apparently a friend of the one that called himself Solarin. Erelan had not missed the tension the elf-woman displayed at the sight of a dragon, nor had she overlooked the white-ringed eyes of her mount; the presence of so many anxious horses in the yard was one of the reasons Erelan was presently on the roof instead of on the ground. Still, company of so many elves did much to calm the green dragon's edginess - or perhaps it was simply that now she had a reason to feel protective, instead of just worrying about keeping her own hide intact. There were things down there that worried her greatly - but at least now she could be wary and alert, ready for danger, rather than flying into an impotent and panicked frenzy, hearing the screams of her much younger self echoing through her mind and memories.....

She stomped on that train of thought, quickly.

Erelan looked toward the door in time to see the musician exit, and dropped her head to her forepaws again, watching with faintly luminescent eyes. The bard walked over to speak with the pegasus-befriended girl.

(Animiian, I suppose - unless pegasi are as widely-spread as elves seem to be. And I guess the girl would be royalty, by the crown. It may be so. I only met Animiian royalty once, and she couldn't possibly have been born when I traveled that part of the world.). She watched the trio for a long moment and yawned slightly, scratching her chin against the roof-ridge. Perhaps the bard would perform at some point, Erelan thought with faint sad hopefulness, for she loved music almost as much as she loved to study people and places. Perhaps someday, she could talk with the bard - perhaps trade tales over low-burning campfires, and then perhaps the bard would sing new songs, songs that Erelan had never heard before.

(I would keep them forever,) she thought, slowly turning away. (I would store them away in my crystal and save them forever. Humans are so brief. So brief.)

(Grieving accomplishes nothing, Erelan. Nothing at all.)

That thought was sent off in the same direction of the first. Dragons had long memories and an almost infinite capacity to forget... at least for a present moment. She turned her attention back to the red-headed mage, catching sight of him as he moved away from the inn and toward the forest. (And now, what mischief do you make?) she thought with a gleam in her eye. She dropped soundlessly off the back side of the stable where she wouldn't be seen, and winged aloft in the darkness, for the moment ignoring the silver-shadowed form in the doorway of the Midnight Sun, though her skull and spine prickled warning and danger.

(Danger is all around, and I will hunt one quarry at a time.)

She dropped back to the ground before she flew over the clearing where the mage stopped. Certainly the wind whipping about her ear-flaps and the odd buzzing in her head suggested that something was going on, but to her surprise, the mage was alone in the clearing when she crept to the edge.

(I could have sworn I Sensed the presence of another....)

The mage smiled, then sighed, and took from one of his cloak's inner pockets a small bag filled with salt and powdered obsidian, and then, as a final touch, some powdered malachite. He cast a handful into the air. The wind caught the dust and whirled it into a smoky outline, as the form of a coach, built on runners and floating in the air, took form. Tied to it were six ghostly steeds, black as midnight with rainbow shimmers in their coats. Their jesses were of smoke, it seemed, and Xenon allowed them to remain so, a tantalizing challenge and gesture of beauty to his fellow Adepts hereabout. The coach solidified, as did the steeds – the coach a delight of black wood, green and black velvet, two triple seats at the fore and rear inside, covered with intricate carvings; while the steeds became matched stallions with eyes of green swirls and hooves seemingly made of malachite... none of which came closer than a foot to touching the ground.

Erelan watched from the cover of the forest, her eyes narrowing slightly at the mage-work. It was showy in the extreme and it smelled of the arrogance so common to powerful mages. She distrusted such arrogance. It could be harmless and even helpful in small doses, but in large amounts it could grow like a cancer, blackening even the most well-meaning talent. She retreated soundlessly into the shadows again and flew back to her perch in the space of a few moments. It was just as well that the mage had magicked up some transportation for some of the other two-legged members of the group, she admitted grudgingly. Not all had horses – (or pegasi, or sheep,) she amended with a glance toward Dee'rina and Sable – and though Erelan herself would have gladly carried some of the group, she would only be able to fly with one, or perhaps two or three, at the outside, and then only if she left her precious carry-sack.

(Good to know I can... it’s but unlikely. This represents decades worth of study... and besides that, it's _mine_!) With a mental chuckle for her own possessiveness, she turned her head toward the fast-approaching dawn and extended her wings in a bow of greeting to the sun.

Raven Darkblade:
Solarin didn't bat an eyelash at Atalaya's arrival.

"I see you've picked yourself up a human. Does it bite?"

Raven, who had returned from searching the room and was tightening Bansee's girth, looked up to the Karilanthian paladin. "Yes," she answered dryly, "It bites. Steer clear unless you want to lose pieces."

Solarin stifled a grin. "Glad to see you could make it, Atalaya. I've been waiting to see how long it would take you to join us." He shrugged. "This is my partner, Raven Darkblade."

Raven tugged on a billet strap, grunting, "Charmed, I'm sure."

Atalaya nodded. "Likewise," she told Raven in an equally thrilled voice. "Atalaya Silverflame, warrior of Solaras."

"Bloody hell, a paladin." Raven shook tendrils of hair out of her eyes.

Xenon's incredibly short-sighted magical indulgences caught all three by surprise. "Excuse me," Raven called acidly, "but is there a _reason_ for that display? I mean, didn't we already _have_ a big enough magical signature? Was there something in the area that didn't know we were here? And how, precisely, do you intend to get that thing through the Kaladh without being attacked every five minutes by a hungry -"

"'Ware!" Atalaya threw up a hand. "Evil comes!"

Solarin's head snapped up. "What is it?"

She shook her head, grimacing. "I don't know.…"

A mad giggling sound rose from the shadows beside the road way. A chill ran up Raven's spine. "Screylinh - bloody hell!"

She grabbed Banshee's reins and vaulted into the saddle as, from the bracken, small furry creatures hopped slowly into view, giggling softly to themselves.

Solarin followed Raven's lead, seizing his saddlebow and swiftly nocking an arrow once he was mounted. "We can't fight them off - they attack in swarms and they're armoured against magic."

Raven nodded shortly. "We have to leave, now!" she shouted. "Somebody do a mindcall - the situation has become move it or lose it!"

One of the screylinh made a leap, bouncing into the air like a child's ball and landing on Banshee's neck. The mare squealed. Raven tore the creature away – leaving a bloody spot on the pale hide – and she saw for a moment the impossibly long, spiny fangs that filled the screylinh's grotesquely wide mouth before she hurled it into the darkness....

Axe:
Xenon was surprised when the yelling started – both of mind and the troll's stentorian voice. Then, it was swiftly followed by... oh those Damnable giggles! (I HATE screylinh!) he complained... mostly to Kang. :Armour me up, Kang!:

As the sweet little healer came vaulting, without so much as a by your leave, into his carriage, the thick belt of green-black Adamant at his waist flowed over his form and enclosed him in an armour no screylinh could penetrate. (Well, ok. One of the foul things had once shoved a tooth through his nose slit.) Spikes protruded from his toes and knuckles as he landed beside the carriage, casting a ward in a sphere around it and the steeds. That would keep the screylinh out and let the lovelies in!

As various folk ran screaming by – some entering the carriage, some only fleeing past – he moved out past the edge of the ward and began to kill screylinh. They made a decidedly-satisfying crunch as he hit and kicked them, destroying their foul little forms. Of all of Medivh's filthy get, he hated screylinh almost worst of all. They were hard to kill, resistant to most forms of magic, disgustingly mad, and just plain ravenous filthy little reavers. His uncle loved the little wagdz furgz rukkaakh thekthyus frguragnt corbakht guth little wretches; Xenon often slipped into Demon for indulging in the fine art of cursing.

If Aggy had summoned these he would be most annoyed and would dargreth kurgilyckshch trogragthkhkshdmnded let her know about it – words which would be likely accompanied with a swift swat to her lovely rear.

"Come my lovelies!" he called. "Xenon's love coach is pulled to the curb. The horses are raring to go and I will personally guarantee you the Ride of your Lives!!! Ha!!"

The two-soul from the inn came running like a scalded lap dog and vaulted into the carriage like a prize gladiatorial performing slave. (Hmmmm Yes!) he thought. (I do love the femme form of the two!). Then, noticing the tons of troll and sheep steering themselves between his carriage and the giggling hordes, he got down to the business of killing screylinh that got around, or past, (or, usually underneath,) the troll, taking each one as a personal insult much in need of avenging. He began to hum a little working song, known to poor Jocaran farmers and one annoyed Adept.

Seashimmer:
Seashimmer watched Sand glance at her through the corners of her eyes, then turn away. (It would have been nice to get to know some of these people at least a little bit... but I suppose if they don't talk to me, I'll get asked less questions I don't want to answer.) She was just finishing her glass when she felt a surge of pain right outside of the inn. (What in all the hells….) She dropped her wine glass as she sprinted to the door, ignoring a shout from the tavern keeper. As she opened the door, one of the creatures jumped at her. She threw up a shield instinctively, not of mage force but of swirling air, and watched the creature fly off of it as she slammed the door behind her. (The inn, got to keep these things out of the inn... oh, damn it, why so soon -). They had to leave, _now_. Most of the other members of the party were already on horses. (Yseth save me, why did I never learn how to _ride_?) she thought wildly. "Where -," she shouted out, then saw the carriage. (That wasn't there before - no wonder these things came up - oh, who cares, it's there _now._) She sprinted to it, and slid in, hoping that everyone was there. (Sand, where's Sand….)

Muranog:
"Ware!" Atalaya threw up a hand. "Evil comes!"

As the elven paladin spoke, Muranog instantly reached for his sword. His own people had no paladins – not as the surface folk understood the concept, anyway – but the old texts spoke of the paladins of Solaras and their powers, and the many battles in which they had fought beside trolls, thousands of years ago.

Scant seconds later, his own magical senses screamed a warning as a swarm of strange small creatures hopped from the undergrowth and launched themselves into the air, making an odd giggling noise. His sword was already in his right hand, swinging in a great arc to intercept one of the leaping creatures and splitting it neatly down the middle. The creature fell to the ground in two parts, gushing blood and twitching but still making its odd giggling noise. Without a second's pause, the troll switched the sword to his left hand and lashed out at another of the attackers, just in time to cut it from the air – noticing as he did so that a third one was landing on Raven's horse, long sharp fangs extended, and more were still emerging from the bracken.

Keeping the sword ready in his left hand, Muranog pointed his right hand at the oncoming horde, fingers outstretched. He snapped a Word of power. A bolt of scarlet flame leapt from his fingers to strike the nearest of the creatures and slam it to the ground, but the creature failed to catch fire. Undeterred by the firebolt, it picked itself up, still giggling, when it should have been incinerated, and kept advancing.

:Protected against magic,: Sable observed, even as Solarin said the same aloud.

:I had noticed,: retorted the troll, vaulting into the saddle, sword still leveled at the oncoming tide of small giggling monsters. His sword flicked out to strike another who came too close, knocking it from the air to lie stunned for a brief few moments. Before it could pick itself up, Sable's front left hoof, shod in gleaming whitesteel, came down hard on it, crunching and snapping its bones. The creature – the screylinh, as Raven had named it – expired instantly under the weight of six tons of sheep plus sheepshoes and barding.

"We have to leave, now!" Raven shouted. "Somebody do a mindcall – the situation has become move it or lose it!"

:Everyone move! Danger!: Sable promptly Mindspoke in broadsend mode, her warning slamming into the thoughts of everyone around, and probably half the people inside the inn too.

"Move!" Muranog roared, adding his physical voice to Raven's and to Sable's mental voice. "No time to waste! Everyone who's coming with us, we ride NOW! Innkeeper, bar your doors and windows! Move it!"

More than three hundred years of commanding troops in battle had given Muranog a very powerful shouting voice, and a shouting troll could probably be heard for a few miles here on the surface. The combination of troll shouts and sheep mindcalls seemed to be catching everyone's attention, together with the sight of the troll in full armour mounted on the armoured war sheep, brandishing a bloody sword, and the sight of still more of the screylinh hopping into sight. A thought formed in the troll Adept's mind, and before he had even clearly verbalised it in his head, Sable received it through their link and reacted, moving to position herself between the oncoming monsters and Xenon's carriage, where the less combat-ready members of the group seemed to be concentrated.

"Move!" Muranog roared once more, his sword still in his left hand. He prayed under his breath to Graal and K'Sath that his companions would comply in time.

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