Mistic Circle ~ Story

Rainbow:
Rainbow glanced up from her thoughts as Dee reared to fight.

:Screylinh,: Dee shouted in Rain's mind, :protected against magic and very,: she batted away one with her wings, :annoying!:

:I totally agree Dee!: Rainbow shouted back, readying a blast of pure untamed magic, even though she didn't know how to form a weapon from it....

When Sable Mindcalled everyone, Rainbow quickly turned Dee and they flew up to the sky. She quickly called everyone, :This way! We'll be safe in the forest!:

Hoping everyone would follow, and letting out a streamer of energy to guide the landbound people, she and Dee swooped to a cave, just visible in the trees, and put a tight shield on it, able to be entered only by the people who were in the group. Luckily Dee was good at remembering power signatures....

Andi:
Etain whirled as the newcomer declared, "'Ware!" She threw up a hand. "Evil comes!"

She had two daggers in one hand and her rapier in the other before she even saw what was coming.

(Damn,) she thought. (Screylinh. I hate these little demons.) She wheeled Fea around and started slicing at the little furballs with fangs as they leapt up to bite her. She had loosed five daggers already and all five had found their mark.

She observed Muranog and the elves doing the same, but for every one they killed, there seemed to be five in their place. She turned Fea about and urged her back into the fray, leaning over to pick up her daggers as she rode by.

One of the Screylinh leapt at her and she grabbed it out of the air by its fur, promptly breaking its neck – being very careful of the fangs – and hurling it back to the ground. Another sprang up and tried to get at Fea's neck, but she speared that one and hurled it against a tree.

(Great Morrigu, the only thing I hate worse than a Screylinh is a Ghoulcat. Goddess bless, we don't find any of those on our journey.)

:Everyone move! Danger!: Sable promptly Mindspoke in broadsend mode.

She looked up to try to find out whose voice that was. Even though she did not recognize it she understood the message.

"Anyone need a ride?" She rode up to the group of those on foot assembled by the carriage. "Not that I want to take any of m'lord Xenon's lovelies away from him, but I personally do not know how many this convenient carriage can hold." She grinned evilly. "And I, for one, would rather trust a Ghoulcat."

She turned Fea towards the road, looking backwards to the dragon on the roof. :M'lady Dragon, could you scout from the air and let us know how many of these fuzzies will be following us?: Without waiting for confirmation she turned Fea into the direction of the forest, waiting for the rest to follow.

(Great Morgan,) she prayed, (with all this excitement in one day, let our journey be peaceful....) With a sinking heart she realized that this prayer could not be fulfilled. They were destiny-bound – as destiny-bound as she – and their future could only be tumultuous.

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

Shadowblade turned swiftly, grabbing her bow and an arrow at "ready" position. :Damn, what now? Ynys, get to the carriage that Xenon threw up! You go first, I'll take the rear against these... screylinh... with Muranog and the other warriors.:

:Right. Take care, elf.: The unicorn galloped out of the stables, taking with her 'Blade's light pack and wishes.

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

Shadowblade heard Raven, but made a vocal call instead. (There are people who have no abilities in that area....) "Hurry up! Run! People without steeds, hitch a ride with Xenon! Armed ones, take the rear!"

She grabbed the roof of the stables, hauling herself up onto the rather unstable roof. Taking aim, she let loose one of her arrows. It flew straight and true, hitting one of those irritating creatures in the breast. She saw Muranog below, fending off some of the creatures. She took one off before it made a would-be fatal leap onto the Troll's back. (Damn the little bastards.) She gritted her teeth as she missed a shot as the little thing hopped maddeningly to the side, grazing one of its hind legs.

(I'm running out of arrows fast... have to vault down soon.) At the corner of her eye, she spied Xenon's carriage being filled very quickly. (Odd, I never saw that woman before... though I sense a familiar Essence in her... two-souled? This party is bigger than I thought.) Glancing around, she noticed the absence of some of their group.… (Sand, Seashimmer, that half-elf... where are they? And Agalein?) She ignored the sense of despair that clogged her throat at the thought of a dead Agalein. (Now why is that? I'm not inclined that way, and I don't recognize her....)

She fired her last arrow and somersaulted down onto the ground, slinging her bow on her back and unsheathing her Blade almost simultaneously. She cut a path to the carriage, motioning for the rest to follow.

Femmy:
Agalein leaned on a wall, her fingers on her lips, trying to calm her heart. Oh how she hated him for doing this to her! But then she saw him approaching the silver-haired woman at the door. (Play with your women, Xenon, but leave me alone,) she begged quietly.

She waited until the rain stopped and couldn't help smiling. Well, if he knew how to make her heart go skipping along, at least she knew how to make him do some little things for her.

She noted the arrival of a new elf, apparently a friend of Solarin's. If the elf was going with them, all the better. Medivh wanted as many people as possible to come to the Citadel.

A moment later Xenon showed up with a magical carriage. Just as Agalein stepped outside, she heard mad giggles from a near bush. The screylinh, finally! She thought they would take forever to get here. She resisted the urge to pet the cute little critters and glided over to the carriage, getting in. With her magic, when she walked, her feet hardly touched the ground, thus preventing mud from soiling her dress.

Darvoso:
"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.

Sofaltis nodded as she responded, but he not so sure as to whether her 'delicate' nature was true or not – one part of his mind noting how she shifted deliberately for the viewing, but his body not resisting the temptation of looking....

"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.

His overly-sensitive elven skin shivered at her gentle touch, her skin as smooth as the elven silks he had owned for the times when looking well-dressed – and well-endowed – was a must. He noted with a flicker of eyes just how close she was to him, and just how much her skin did glow in the dusky light of the inn.

"And, what are you going to involve yourself in?" This last 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.

This time her warm, sultry voice induced full body shivers as her breath trickled across his ears..., (That's one feature of elven anatomy I share,) he thought ironically for a split moment, before her... attentions... took him back to her. (Zora, such an odd name....) He felt her tongue hit his ear just lightly, but the implied implications hit him like a ton of bricks. (She's trying to seduce me! People aren't usually this forward,) he thought with a bit of chagrin, but also realizing that if she wanted him, he'd probably go willingly. (Haven't been wanted this way for a while, and oh, how nice it is to be wanted by someone attractive, and in such a... nice... way. Kinda like Wintersky....) He killed the mood. (Damn, I can't even stop thinking about her when I have a more attractive woman just inches from me!) Even so, he knew that he wanted Zora. He looked into her eyes, noting how they glittered as she pulled back again, not being able to interpret what they showed.

"Well... my name's Sofaltis, lovely one...," he spoke slowly, more this time from having to get the words out around the hypnotic effect she was having on him.

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

Jerked out of the seductive aura Zora was weaving, he looked up, cursing as the screylinh came bounding into the inn.

"And that is what we're getting into! Trouble.…" He didn't add his voice to the now-screaming babble, as inn patrons scattered every which way; he knew that although his voice was considered nice, it wasn't good for shouting out orders as the troll's voice so obviously was. Instinctively he vaulted to his feet, doing a somersault from his corner over the table, and landing to the right in front of Zora. Two daggers zinged from his wrist sheathes, serrating two throats almost instantly, as his left hand went down for the curved elven blade. He gave one fleeting moment of thanks to his now-dead "parents" for leaving him this sword – (About the only thing I have left of their legacy.,) – before dropping into a fighting stance that spoke volumes about hand-to-hand fighting and knowledge of sword work, tempered by ten long years of hard experience. He watched from his little corner, his mind working under conditions that he had come to term, "battle-fast", noting how people ran from the inn – who went what way; who was showing fighting prowess; and, most of all, the attack pattern of the little fuzzball creatures.

There wasn't one. (I hate sporadic enemies....) He began to heed the shouted advice of innkeeper, merc, troll, and his own common sense, and began to head for the door with a backward glance at Zora.

"Come on! We've got to get out of here!" He also took time to look for Rainbow, as he hadn't forgotten her yet, and strangely enough, didn't want to. (Must all be outside... I saw her and the bard talking – perhaps they left....) His sword flickered about, cutting down what he could of the creatures that came near him, but they were everywhere and he knew that he and everyone else would be overrun by the swarm. (Kinda like rats!) he thought. He saw the troll wading through the fuzzballs with an ease that he only wished he could emulate. Then a deep pain imbedded itself in his leg, jerking his thoughts back to reality.

"Damn!" he cursed in elven. (Only halfway to the door, and about a million more fuzzy things to wade through.) He looked back at Zora, making sure that she was following. He was doing his best to protect her and any other of the "normal" inn patrons. (Damned if I see normal people hurt for something that was so obviously meant for the shining beacon of energy that this small entourage has interred.) So involved in protecting others, he didn't see the one that leapt straight for his throat....

Sorchafyr:
Sand was drawn from her reverie by a voice which seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

: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.

Sand's finely-honed instinct for self-preservation led her to turn toward the safety of the inn, but she quickly changed direction as she spied a carriage with several members of this little escapade inside. She froze suddenly as she spied a writhing, vile thing on the ground, just long enough for another one to jump on her shoulder. She wanted to scream as it sank some appendage – (Teeth? claws?) – into her skin, but her voice – that instrument upon which she relied her living – turned traitorous and deserted her. Trying to pull the thing off, she only succeeded in tearing the wound open more. Sand would never know if it was fortunate happenstance – or if he somehow picked up on her distress – but Muranog turned slightly and raised his hand as he saw her. A bolt of red lightning shot from his hand and the loathsome thing tore from her shoulder with a sizzle. Sand lost no time wrenching open the door to the carriage and tumbling inside. Her shoulder was bleeding freely and there seemed to be far too many bodies inside already. (We'll sort it out down the road,) she thought, (I just hope I don't sit on anybody who will kill me for it.)

Izzy:
As she swung onto Cyclone's back, grabbing for the reins with one hand, Atalaya muttered something Elvish and vile. (Great. Solarin, why is it that whenever I'm around you, I end up in this sort of situation?) She grabbed her sword and brought it around just in time to slice through the beast jumping at her, cutting it off mid-giggle.

"Is everyone ready to go?" she yelled to Solarin, kicking away another of the screylinh. "If so, can we get out of here for the sake of my ears and my sanity?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Atalaya saw a man leave the inn. Then she saw a screylinh leap for his throat. Too far away to have any chance of reaching it, she raised her voice and yelled, "Look out, dammit!"

Raven Darkblade:
"Look out, dammit!"

Thock! A six-inch bolt impaled the screylinh at the height of its leap and carried it just past Sofaltis's neck to pin it to the frame of the inn's door. Raven reloaded her wristbolt and called to the half-elf, "Watch your neck!"

(Mara'liweion take it! Who's with us - the healer, the bard, Shadowblade and Muranog... Solarin and Atalaya, Etain, some other woman and this half-elf, Xenon, Agalein... Rainbow and the pegasus went into that damn cave trailing magic everywhere - who's left? Damn if I know....)

She wheeled Banshee around and shouted, "We have to go now! Anyone who isn't with us will have to get left behind. Someone get Rainbow and Dee'rina out of that cave before they get cornered in there by the furry little bastards!" She pulled the Darkblade from its scabbard and swung it in an arc, swatting another screylinh out of the air. "Solarin, lead the carriage off towards the vale - you know the way!"

He nodded, calling to the driver of the carriage [Xenon?], "Follow!" and kneeing Redlegs towards a small gap in the trees.

Raven slashed at the screylinhs as they leapt, cutting them in two or smacking them from the air. "Come on, people, move!"

Kathryn:
Largely ignored by the others, Fallenangel dropped into deep thought as to the nature of. whatever she had Felt. She was startled out of her thoughts as the (Elven?) woman, Atalaya, shouted a warning.

:Angel!: Isis cried a split second later, :we have to leave. Now!:

Hard on her heels was Shadowblade's exclamation. "Hurry up! Run! People without steeds, hitch a ride with Xenon! Armed ones, take the rear!"

Not intending to argue with anyone calling an warning, Fallenangel swung aboard her horse, Donas, and pulled the rains sharply, turning him towards the Inn, away from the creatures whose arrival was heralded by the chilling sound of... giggling? She wasn't nearly fast enough, however, and one leaped onto Donas, sinking its fangs into his flank. The red stallion screamed – an awful, shattering sound – and bucked wildly. Fallenangel was half-thrown, managing only to keep her seat on his back through sheer luck. Cursing in a half dozen languages, she whipped her small dagger from its sheathe and sliced the little beastie neatly in two. She could see the warriors fighting them off, but she turned Donas, spurring him away, ignoring, for the time being, his limp and aura of pain. Fallenangel felt, rather than saw, that she had left Isis behind to face the on-coming hoard.

:Isis!: she called, starting to pull Donas up.

:No!: the panther replied, :GO. I can defend myself....: The rest was lost as she reared, slashing at the reavers with claws and teeth, battering the Screylinh with her wings and confusing them. Fallenangel moved, knowing that she would be no better than a liability; she wasn't a warrior and had no real battle skills.

The Screylinh moved faster than she did – and not three lengths from where they had been attacked, Donas screamed and collapsed, legs thrashing wildly at the rodents. Fallenangel hit the ground rolling, and rose to her feet. At the same time she dropped her shields completely. An almost visible wave of pain, fear, and despair surrounded her, as she concentrated on projecting to them, trying to convince them to leave.

(You may be immune to magic, but nothing's immune to emotion! You little bastards, let's see you ignore this....) Much to her surprise, it worked, and most of them scrambled away, still giggling, or fell still. She kicked them off Donas and he rose, somewhat unsteadily, to his feet, bleeding from more than a dozen wounds. (I hope they're not poisonous....) She had time to think before leaping unto his back. She headed the stallion – light red coat stained with the darker red of blood – toward the mage's coach.

Raven wheeled Banshee around and shouted, "We have to go now! Anyone who isn't with us will have to get left behind. Someone get Rainbow and Dee'rina out of that cave before they get cornered in there by the furry little bastards!" She pulled the Darkblade from its scabbard and swung it in an arc, swatting another screylinh out of the air. "Solarin, lead the carriage off towards the vale - you know the way!"

Fallenangel pushed Donas into a gallop, following the carriage. She rode close enough to see the "horses" pulling it and shuddered. (Mental note,) she thought with a trace of humour, (never get anyone who holds that much power angry.) Suddenly remembering that she was still projecting, her shields snapped back into place, hopefully before she could corrupt that carriage's driver. She glanced behind, hoping that everyone had escaped. And, with growing alarm, realized that she didn't see her bondmate Isis in the fracas....

Axe:
All was a pleasant chaos of blood and screams and, most pleasurably, dying screylinh. Xenon continued to whistle his little song as the people streamed by. The cute, quiet healer elf from the Inn came sprinting towards the carriage and slid in, in a great hurry without so much as a "by-your-leave" to him. Though slightly annoyed, he thought, (Oh well. I'll certainly give her a fine Ride in repayment....)

A screylinh jumped for his face and his partner, Kang, extruded a sharp blade from the chin, allowing the filthy little jumper to impale itself. The bloody little heap fell off as Kang unextruded the blade, and Xenon used the blood and tiny twisted spirit energy to link to the death around him. His senses became sharper as the power flowed in. His movements also became swifter, though Kang often said it shifted his mood for the worse to do such as this.

Zora's leap still struck him as funny, and he quit singing his song to begin saying, "Up Solome!" each time a screylinh jumped. He saw the battle skill that was being exhibited by his newfound companions du jour, and was quite impressed. It took a great deal of skill for a big troll to focus sword or magic on a small creature like a screylinh... especially from the back of a giant spinning sheep. The blades folk and archers were also doing well, but seemed to have little sense of coordinating their efforts or of forming up. Getting something to protect your back was important when fighting screylinh... he had found this out on the two or three occasions when Medivh had dumped him into a pit of ten or twelve of them to liven up the Citadel evening entertainment schedule and to punishment him for some real or imagined failure. Still, they were on their horses and such... and were probably unwilling to sacrifice them.

(Them or you perhaps...,) he thought.

Just then Aggy glided across the mud and blood towards his carriage. He grew angry when he saw her little smile. True it could be just because the dizzy snitch liked the filthy little wretches, but his money would be on her having much to do with this. He saw several others coming towards the carriage and knew he couldn't confront her about it right this second... and then opportunity presented itself. He jumped towards her, intercepting a screylinh jumping for another in midair, and hacked through it with his knuckle claws, spraying bright red touches of gore all over her pristine white dress and the side of her face and hair. It landed in the sopping mud near her, adding a lovely red-brown splash of mud to pattern the white.

"Oh my dear, Aggy! Please hurry and get in! Fortunes of war and all that!" He gave her a devilish smile which she couldn't see through the armour, and spin around to face the riders quickly approaching.

The first rider, the war fairie, spoke:

"Anyone need a ride?" She rode up to the group of those on foot assembled by the carriage. "Not to take any of m'lord Xenon's lovelies away from him, but I personally do not know how many this convenient carriage can hold." She grinned evilly. "And I, for one, would rather trust a Ghoulcat."

Xenon's anger grew behind the adamant mask and he answered with a voice of sweet silk and honey.

"It will hold, comfortably," he said. "Six inside, two to three on the driver's seat, and several on the sideboards. At present it contains three gentle ladies, and I am only too happy to assist you, war fairie, with the simple math required to allow your own powers of observation to come to the same sum. Your personal knowledge having now been assuaged –," he paused but a moment to kick a screylinh body further away, "–and your education thus complete, I am sure you could ask my dear uncle Savar to turn you into a ghoulcat... or you could just continue to be obnoxious and allow me to assist you in some similar and equally well-deserved fashion."

He turned a bit, keeping the wench of a fairie in his peripheral sight, and saw a unicorn approaching as that delicious and feisty little femme, ShadowBlade, yelled for all and sundry to hitch a ride with him. At nearly the same instant, Sand came running from the Inn, a screylinh attached to her shoulder, and before he could do anything to assist, a bolt of red from the troll tore it quite neatly from her shoulder. As she slid and wrenched open the door of the carriage, scrambling in, he heard Raven shouting.

"Solarin, lead the carriage off towards the vale - you know the way!"

Solarin nodded, calling to the driver of the carriage, "Follow!" and kneeing Redlegs towards a small gap in the trees.

(Oh I think NOT,) Xenon thought to himself, his anger getting brighter as he drained more power from dying screylinh. He spoke to the unicorn, saying, "You are welcome to follow, Lady," and then turning to Etain, he added, "and you as well... if you can mind your manners. You! By the door! Idiot half-elf! Get over here and live, or stand there like a rabbit, caught in a serpent’s gaze, to die like prey."

Just then, a screaming ripping torrent of raw focused emotion raged in upon him, moving through his shields – those that he let down to draw the power of the dying screylinh in. As he vaulted into the seat, he noticed the stupid mercenary he had seen moments before and had made to look like a livery boy was already there, trying desperately to get the carriage underway. (Idiot,) he thought. (No one moves this carriage but me and it goes but where I say.)

He felt the wash of emotion approaching and wanted to scream at them to stop. He missed some action behind him, and perhaps others entered the carriage. He set the horses to leaping forward – the carriage rising to its normal three-feet-up traveling height. His annoyance with the not-so-good-to-begin-with mercenary buffoon trying to steal his carriage [as he saw it], caused him to finally reach a culmination to his building anger. As the carriage sped forward and – (Oh thank you gods of light and darkness) – the painful emotion shut off, he happily knocked the thurgashbegrottded mercenary off into a convenient pile of screylinh face first and put on more speed to the horses.

He then Broadsent to the following warriors and to the brgdrattig elf who thought to lead them off to some dragreth cadrehktrek elf haven [and generally to everyone else as well].

:I Think Not! I know not of this Solarin's skill as ranger or scout, nor am I inclined to follow such a one and his haughty new companion blindly into who knows what sort of an elf haven. The horses and carriage will soon outdistance these filthy vrekhradgreshing furglkraksh screylinh and I will guide any of you who wish – and surely those within my carriage – to the road to the Citadel, and to shelter on the road."

With that, he continued to speed the carriage at a frenzied speed, off around the nearest woods and down into a valley as the dawn of the morning sun began to send tendrils of faint pastel colours into the sky.

Dax & Adrienne:
A slight breeze caressed Aliaya's nearly bare skin. Still mostly asleep, she rolled over and asked if someone could shut the window. Besides the draft, someone nearby kept whispering in her mind, getting louder and quieter every so often. She could not understand what the voice was saying and it began to bother her. Another breeze brought her to consciousness. She looked around and saw Ruvan playing with a ball of colored light in a corner of the tent. (Tent? Whose tent?) Then she recalled Dakorillon SilverSong coming upon her and aiding her and all the events that followed.

She sat up, expecting pain but feeling none. In actuality, she felt better than she had in a very long time. (That's odd.) Reaching for the mirror that was sitting out, she twisted until she could see her own back. Where she expected to see great gashes, there were only slight, pink scars.

"Now why would my back be completely healed?" she asked Ruvan rhetorically. In response, she received an image of Dak pouring a liquid into her back, distorted from the baby's angle. (He must have given me a healing potion.) A review of the image told her something else. (He didn't take any himself. Why not? He needed it just as badly.)

Thinking about Dak made her feel warm all over. (Wait, he's not here. Which means he awoke before me and saw me like this! All exposed!) This thought brought a wave of embarrassment and started a stream of fantasizing. Reluctantly, she came back to reality. (Well, I best change before he returns.) She decided to leave her riding skirt on because her pants were still soggy. Her other change of clothing was the one dress that she hadn't already shredded for clothes for her children, or sold. She only had two shirts – (Well, one now). Like the pants, the shirt she'd worn with them was quite soggy. (This one can be used for clothes for Ruvan. I guess I can take the dress apart and make a skirt and shirt, but that will take some time.) Then the blue shirt Dak had lent her caught her eye. She hastily pulled it over her head. She brushed her hands through her reddish-brown hair. The mirror sent her reflection back to her. The rain had caused her hair to curl into ringlets, cascading midway down her back. (My, how my face has really thinned out in the past year, and my hair has lost its shine,) she thought, regretfully. (What do you expect after a year of travelling? And who cares? You never were the beauty of the court, even when you fitted the mold. Oh, stop. Your life has changed, and a pretty face and shiny hair are not going to mean anything anymore.) But she could not really convince herself because she wanted Dakorillon to think her beautiful.

"I guess I could wash clothes today and sew them," she commented to Ruvan to get her mind off Dak. "I suppose I should find a stream to do this." She ducked out of the tent and almost walked into Dak. She gazed up at him, noting how his silver-blonde lock fell over his bandage. She longed to brush it out of his face. She looked into his eyes, chills flowing through her body. There was anger there that quickly turned to desire, which was, just as quickly, repressed.

"Good morning, Aliaya, I trust you slept well?"

(Still he is formal. I liked it much better when he called me Aya.) Her long patience began to fray. "My lord, I slept very well. Thank you for saving my life, both with your sword and with your healing potion. I will repay you in any way I can." (Now we have made our relationship an exchange of pleasantries and formalities.) Sadness came with the thought, for she truly wanted to share a friendship, and more, if possible, with this man. His closeness made formalities hard. It took great restraint to not reach up and pull his lips to her own. (Move away from him.) But she was stuck between him and the tent with nowhere to move to. She smiled to relieve her own tension. "Since you must still be ill from your wounds, I believe it best not to travel. We can camp here until you feel better. Today, I thought I might find a stream and do some washing and mending. Is there anything I can wash or mend for you?"

Dak frowned again. (She can remember to thank me for using my sword, but she didn't remember to pick up my sword! Hellfires! Well, she has a sword that she never pulls – maybe I can use that.)

Aliaya realized she could hear Dak's thoughts clearly again. (I must have dropped my shields while I was sleeping. That explains the voice.)

:No: came the familiar sword-voice.

:No what?:

:You know he cannot wield me. I belong to Ruvan. You are allowed because you are of the blood.…: The voice drifted off as if listening to someone else she could not hear. Then it returned. :....and Touched.:

"Sir Silversong," her voice sweet, yet still formal, "I apologize that I lost your sword. I will replace it as soon as possible." She was uncomfortable with his anger directed at her.

He quickly smoothed his frown, knowing how it frightened her. (I wonder if her husband beat her?) Then he spoke without moving. "You can give the mending a try; there's not much left of my other shirt and vest, and the tent could use it as that hole is going to reopen sometime today. A bath would be lovely, but I'm not sure I would bathe in any waters around here – nor should you. In fact it’s not really safe for you to be near any large body of water." Thoughts of watching her bathe, a nymph rising from a stream, filled his mind for a moment, distracting him.

He reached out and toyed with one springy curl, winding about his finger, staring at the curl, not her face, his eyes more intense, need radiating like an oven opened, washing over her.

"I'll clean anything you need cleaned with magic, and you as well, if you desire." He left that hanging, the habit of innuendo too deeply ingrained to prevent. (It’s what you desire that's the problem, Dak. Luck and Love, she's beautiful, and close... so close.) Despite all his vows and good intentions, he couldn't help himself. (Vicemaster! I'm doing it again! Falling in love, sweet agony.)

His need sent her thoughts and emotions spiraling. (I want him so badly. No, you're just responding to his wants. You are married.) Aliaya tried to concentrate on a faded year-old image of her husband and how his farewell kiss had felt. But the memory of the kiss only increased the tension in her body towards Dak. His thought that she was beautiful wiped away her image of Sorjo. The phrase "falling in love" caused her to rationalize. (This is okay. The King's Sword said it belonged to Ruvan. My husband is next in line, but the king is Ruvan. So I must no longer have a husband.) Sadness followed, for she truly loved Sorjo.

Dak's hand slipped to her jaw and cupped it tenderly, his hand rough from calluses, warm and strong. "Aya, dearheart." He breathed it more than spoke. Then he leaned his head down and pressed his lips to hers. (Ah, sweet elixir of life!)

Sadness fell to the thrill of his kiss. And as much as she told herself she was only "responding" to Dak's lust, she knew she was starting to fall in love with him too. Electricity flowed between them as she swayed into his embrace. She fully opened herself to his emotions and reflected her own to him, as was natural for her to do. As she opened herself, a small "link" between them was created.

The kiss seemed to linger for an eternity. It was chaste enough – no dueling tongues of passion, no lip nibbling – just warm, firm lips pressed against soft, yielding ones. (Dak, you're lost, she makes your senses swim,) he thought.

He swayed and became a heavy weight bearing her down to the ground, none too gently. His hand raked down across her chest and stomach. She pulled away from him, feeling a little overwhelmed. Then she realized that his lack of courtesy was due to having passed out. She was stuck uncomfortably beneath him.

"Dak. Dak." She roused him. He moaned slightly. "Dak, you need to go lie down in the tent." (Not on me.)

Again he moaned, then his eyes fluttered open. "Aya," he breathed.

"Dak, you're ill. Please, go lay down in the tent and rest," she gasped. He was crushing her chest, and breathing was becoming more and more difficult for her.

Dak rose shakily and entered the tent. Aya followed. Dak immediately lay down in the same spot where he had slept previously. Ruvan was still playing with the coloured light ball. She knelt beside Dak, smoothed his hair back, and kissed his cheek. "You rest now, sweetness." A smile appeared briefly on his lips, then his eyes closed and he slept.

Aya stayed by him, reveling in the kiss that had just occurred. She watched as Ruvan crawled over the sleeping elf and curled up next to him with his head on Dak's shoulder. She smiled as she felt Ruvan's love towards Dak radiate out. She sat a moment more, then sighed.

(What to do? Well, I guess I can always work on mending.) Then a completely different thought occurred to her. (The Black needs grooming.) She retrieved a fancy brush from her jewel stash to use on the horse. It was an heirloom and had not been sold because her mother had loved it. Aya had not brushed her hair since her last bath. Without water and soap to get it under control, brushing it always made it more crazy. (This will work well on him.) She left the tent and set about brushing the Black's coat until it was shiny. She knew that usually special brushes were used on horses, but grooming was more important than having the special tools. While brushing near his hind, right flank, she noticed a familiar symbol. It was the same tattoo her father had used on his warsteeds. She had no idea where Dak had obtained the horse, but doubted it had been through the normal channels.

"That's okay," she thought aloud. "You must belong to me then, since you bear my father's symbol." The horse only whickered at her in reply. Once she had finished her self-assigned task, she returned to the tent.

Not surprisingly, Dak was still sleeping. Aya could not help but sigh at the beauty of the elf. Again, her mind replayed the morning's events. As she pulled a blanket over him, she realized she was wearing Dak's only usable shirt. She recalled her plans to make her only dress into a skirt and shirt. She pulled out the sewing kit she had bought early on in her journey, and the dress as well.

It was a dress meant to be worn under a cloak because it had a fairly tight bodice. (Well, it was pretty.) She took the sword and sliced the dress slightly below her waistline. Carefully, she stitched up the ends of the top so that the black fabric would not fray. She altered it no more. She removed Dak's shirt and pulled her "new" shirt on. It looked strange to her eyes, but she did not mind because it served its function. She left Dak's shirt near his packs. Finally, she organized herself so that first she would fix the skirt part of the dress so that it was wearable, and then make something usable with the two demolished shirts and vest. To cure the silence in the air, she hummed softly a lullaby she often sang to Ruvan.

Femmy:
Right before Agalein got into the carriage, Xenon suddenly appeared before her, hacking through a screylinh. The creature's blood sprayed on her face and hair, and all over her dress, and then it dropped on the ground, splashing mud on her dress.

"Oh my dear, Aggy! Please hurry and get in! Fortunes of war and all that!" he said, and spun around to face some riders. She could swear that he was smiling behind the armour.

Agalein quickly slid inside the carriage, hoping to avoid other 'accidents'. She glared at the other passengers as she cleaned her face with a handkerchief. If she saw even one twitch of their mouths....

As for Xenon.... He would be sorry that he did this. She would make sure of that.

Caiata:
Stepping out of the inn and into the cool evening air, Delane thanked Sardiek that the rains had stopped. (Wet may be attractive, but it certainly is not comfortable,) she thought to herself with a wry smile. She took a moment to look around and then she heard it – the mad, screeching laughter that echoed in her ears. Somebody shouted, "Screylinh!" – a word Delane didn't recognize. The emotional undertones to the shout, however, were simple to read. Fear, danger, and... annoyance? (That last is definitely understandable.)

Looking to her left, she saw an onslaught of the creatures, leaping madly at whomever they could see. Frozen for a few moments, she watched in fear as one of the horrible things attacked the half-elf, leaping right for his throat. Delane barely had the presence of mind to move a few feet, leaving the doorway clear.

:Everyone move! Danger!:

Delane turned her head sharply, looking for the source of the mindspeech, but she could not identify it. She returned her gaze to the carriage. (We wonder why it's not being attacked? Ahh... Magic indeed) – and was rudely interrupted by the sight of several of these "screylinh" jumping directly for her! (Oh please great Sardiek... don't fail me now....)

With supernatural speed, Delane reached to her shoulder and caressed the mark there, closing her eyes and uttering a soft demonic prayer to her Gods. As she spoke, the matter she was made of seemed to dissolve into a shimmering, luminescent mass, mere seconds before the dreadful creatures reached her. They passed straight through her with a surprised-sounding giggle, and redirected their attack. Flowing into a mist that covered the ground, Delane slowly moved towards the carriage that the knowing-one was offering to all. She hovered near the door and sent a simple emotion to Xenon - :-pardon?-: - and awaited his permission before seeping through the door-cracks to the inside.

Kathryn:
Fallenangel realized that she had not raised her shields before her projection reached the handsome mage driving the carriage. (I'll have to apologize to him,) she thought distractedly, (I just hope that everyone inside had their shields up; it would've cut down on the strength of my projection....) As she raised her shields, she Caught a quick flash of something vaguely familiar that burned her senses from Xenon's direction – mixed with disgust and the red haze of battlelust. She ignored the flash, attributing it to the screylinh.

She nearly reined in Donas to follow Solarin, when the carriage turned off his path, but she decided to stay with the main group. Missing Xenon's Broadsent message, Fallenangel had no idea why the group seemed to be breaking in two.

(It's times like this when I wish I had even the faintest hint of Mindspeech. I'm lucky Isis has both the Projecting and receiving types of Mindspeech, or I'd miss a lot more.) The thought of her bondmate dragged her mind in that direction of thought. Fallenangel glanced behind herself once more, but saw no sign of the panther. (Calm down,) she told herself. (She's alive, or you'd know it.) Donas suddenly began to slow, and Fallenangel turned her attention to the road ahead. The carriage had moved so fast that she had pulled her stallion in behind it, taking the path conveniently cleared by its passage. Now, however, it seemed to be slowing. (Are we stopping?)

Typo:
Erelan heard the warning, and for a moment was frozen on the roof ridge as the courtyard erupted into a sea of fighters, and writhing beasts that looked a bit like rats but smelled worse. Her hesitation lasted only a moment, as her mind was buffeted with wave after chaotic wave of mindspeech. In the end, it was the almost-calmly directed order of the warrior fairie that broke through her indecision.

Etain turned Fea towards the road, looking backwards to the dragon on the roof. :M'lady Dragon, could you scout from the air and let us know how many of these fuzzies will be following us?: Without waiting for confirmation, she turned Fea into the direction of the forest, waiting for the rest to follow.

With only the smallest of nods at the retreating form, and narrowed, glowing eyes, Erelan roared a challenge at the beasts, taking a split moment to note that a few of them stopped their giggling to size up this new attacker. Without waiting for a more satisfactory response, the green dragon hurled herself toward the back of the fight, teeth bared and all her claws readied to tear the disgusting creatures to ribbons.

She brought her teeth down on three of them almost in the same instant that she landed, and hurled the torn bodies away with a flip of her head, trying not to taste the greasy sulfur-and-metal flavoured blood in her mouth, as she sliced through another two with her massive front talons. Her wings were folded back to her sides in an instant, and though the little monsters tried with insanely giggling tenacity to shred the delicate wing-membranes, the heavy teal-and-gold banded scales along the front and leading finger of each wing deflected their teeth. Their fangs scored at her chest, but failed to pierce the natural armour of her scales, as she speared another with the 'decoratively' spined edge of her flared tail tip, and slung the pierced carcass over the heads of the rest of the advancing wave.

It didn't take the screylinh long to realize their current method of attack was falling short. Crawling up her legs by the dozens, the creatures clawed their way to her head and sank their teeth into the tender hide just behind her ear flaps. Roaring with pain and outrage, Erelan slung her head about, sending the creatures flying back off into the giggling group. Drawing herself up to her full height on hind legs, eyes blazing, she mindspoke in a voice of deadly chill.

:Now foul things, you will die!: She locked her long tongue to the bottom of her mouth, dropped her jaw like a feeding snake, peeled back her lips and spat a gout of nearly-liquid flame at the squirming tide. Fire washed over one swath, vaporizing a few that happened to be directly in the path of the flame and setting alight five or ten more. This was no magic flame, but very physical and very deadly dragonfire, and in spite of the fact that every unprotected patch of hide on her body was afire with pain from the bites, she now had their attention. She waded into them, with every weapon she possessed trained on the wriggling bodies, confining her flaming to a relatively small group of the creatures to keep from setting any buildings or other fighters on fire. In the midst of the battle, she tried to see whether any members of the group were still straggling here, but could not look away long enough to see. Shaking her head fiercely - and biting through another couple of the creatures while she was at it – she broadsent, :If friends are left, climb on my back to escape. I can carry you to safety, if not to the rest of the group:

She did not expect the almost instantaneous message that ricocheted through her mind, as if in response.

Xenon Broadsent, :I Think Not! I know not of this Solarin's skill as ranger or scout, nor am I inclined to follow such a one and his haughty new companion blindly into who knows what sort of an elf haven. The horses and carriage will soon outdistance these filthy vrekhradgreshing furglkraksh screylinh, and I will guide any of you who wish – and surely those within my carriage – to the road to the Citadel, and to shelter on the road.:

The bellow of fury at the onslaught of demonic speech was out of her throat before she thought to control it, and she did set a small outhouse alight in her distraction. The words writhed like worms through her mind, waking memories that sent her blind with wrath and hatred born of terror.

"Who dares?! Who dares speak so to me?!" she hissed in the harsh, sillibant war-tongue her people only used to express rage beyond the scope of their gentle language of song. "In that foul tongue! In my mind! By the flames of great Sola, I will tear your throat out for such an insult!" At that moment, there could be no question to any that saw her that this was no dragon-child or gentle scholar, but a creature of war and fury. She spat flame at the screylinh and tore at them as if to punish the tiny creatures for the raping words. The taint of blood magic and demonwork flooded over her – only a faint bit of it real and present; the rest created from too many horrific memories. There was a small lull in the fighting and she took the opportunity to bunch muscles under her, her wings sweeping away any straggling screylinh. Her nostrils still smoking, she prepared to wing aloft, not really noticing or caring whether anyone had decided to climb on her back. "Beware my teeth when I find you," she growled between clenched teeth.

Raven Darkblade:
Medivh Savar lounged comfortably on a velvet-covered couch, sipping at a glass of bloodwine and contemplating. He had just indulged himself in scrying out the gathering at the Midnight Sun. What marvelous potential they had.... He had left the scrying when the screylinhs drove the group onto the road, pleased with the knowledge that his difficulties would be minimal. He would have to thank Xenon for bringing them down the road instead of allowing the elf to lead them into the forest; trapping them would be much easier, especially since the elf's own sense of duty forbade him to leave the rest.

There were, of course, plans to be made. If they managed to overcome their differences, these folk could prove formidable opponents. Though he was rapidly regaining his strength, Medivh was still somewhat weak from his experience with death, and knew he would have to act carefully.

First - the mercenary partners. It was both amusing and irking that the two were, or had been, a part of the Company That Would Not Die. They would, of course, have to pay for their association with Medivh's treacherous daughter.... The woman, he decided, could be broken. The elf would have to die. His kind, so persistent in their refusal to ever give up, could be used to derive an astonishing amount of power. Thought would definitely have to be put to how to get the most power from this one... perhaps he could begin by forcing the elf to watch him break the woman....

As for the blade the elf's partner bore, Medivh intended to possess it. Its power was unfamiliar to him - and he had, in his time, possessed countless magical artifacts. Exploring its abilities would be interesting indeed.

Medivh turned his thoughts onward. The girl-mage... such a morsel! Young and naïve, powerful but largely untrained - and nobly born to boot! He would subvert her, taking utmost care. (It will not do to make the mistakes with her that I did with Xenon and my own dear daughter.…) She seemed to have gotten separated from the group during the chaos the screylinhs created. Perhaps he would send wyverns to pluck her and her pegasus companion from the air. Yes, perhaps he would send wyverns....

Next - the elf with the Blade. There was little thought to be wasted here; the archer-mage would die and the Blade would be his. Simple.

The fairie... not a mage, but who knew what power she could call upon. She would have to be watched, and eliminated swiftly should she prove a threat.

As for the healer – oh, that one had possibilities. Perhaps she could replace the foolish, long-dead Llarana, who had once served him until he had slain her in a fit of anger. He had often regretted his rashness.... Well, the healer looked a promising toy. He would see.

Almost as intriguing were the woman and the winged panther. What they were, he could not say. They too would be watched - though the screylinhs might have pulled down the flying cat. A pity, but perhaps just as well. The woman would have to be watched.

The troll could be a threat. Medivh knew something of trolls – information gained mostly from his dark-elven allies. The troll must not be underestimated. (Ah, well, lightning fells the tallest tree - or troll. I have a great deal of power stored here; he cannot hope to have an equal source. And there is always Nirathei.)

The dragon - the dragon would have to be eliminated quickly. Nirathei could handle her easily. It would be done before they came too close to Medivh. The dragon would fall. Yes.

Then the bard. Sweet, lovely - utterly useless. She was neither a threat nor a temptation. Xenon could have her, if he wished.

Xenon... Medivh's own dear nephew. He above else must be watched closely. He had grown too powerful, his elven blood making him too recalcitrant. (I shall instruct Agalein to keep close watch on him. She fancied him once, I think; it should be no hardship upon her.) His nephew, Medivh decided, was fast outliving his usefulness....

There were others, too, that Medivh had not seen quite so clearly. A half-elf, a gypsy-ish woman, a silvery, sodden waif... He would learn what he could of them, soon.

He sipped at his bloodwine. If handled carefully, the situation could provide him with a great deal of power, but he must be careful not to move too quickly. His experience with his daughter had taught him that. He would move cautiously.

Medivh reached out and tapped experimentally on a fist-sized garnet with a fingernail, eliciting a ringing chime that hung in the air for a moment.

After a moment of silence, a rumbling voice queried, "Yes?"

"Nirathei. You will fly this next night. They travel on the road - surprise them. Slay the dragon whelp and bring me back one of their number."

A moment's pause. "Who?"

He made a dismissive gesture. "I care not. Only - one who can be broken. Bring me a plaything, Nirathei."

"As you wish," the voice rumbled. Across the courtyard, overshadowed by the pillar of rack called the Citadel, something large shifted upon a bed of stone and settled down to sleep through the day.

Medivh envisioned the so-golden elf ranger whimpering in agony, and smiled.

Darvoso:
Almost at once, Sofaltis heard two shouted warnings.

"Look out, dammit!" Atayala yelled out, and he turned to see the leaping fuzzball and knew that he had no way of stopping it.

(Goddess take me,) he thought with a calm certainty as he brought his curved, semi-magical blade up in a useless gesture, as his arm was not faster than the rodents’ leap.

Time resumed its normal, battle enhanced rush. He thought at her with his half untrained ability – :Many thanks!: - not really intending to mindspeak her, but doing so anyway out of sheer gratitude for having a life left to spare. Spending no more time on how nice it was to have his life back, he continued his sword-weaving, letting his own instincts do the killing, while his mind tried to keep up with all the variables.

Self-preservation was winning, and he headed towards the door, his altruistic nature making him help any that needed it on his way out. Executing a rolling cut that lopped off one of the beasties’ head as he exited the inn, he came into view of Xenon and company, blood – both his and the beastie type – mingling with his forest-green mail and carefully concealed armour. Taking a quick moment of rest to wipe the gore off his blade, he scanned each and every one of those around the carriage. Resisting the urge to gawk or do anything else so time-consuming or foolish, he ran to the tree hole where he had stashed his pack. It was only then that he saw the dragon.

(Earth Mother, save me!) he screamed out into his mind, his control to shield at least back. He was confronted with the one thing that he hated the most in his life, so obviously helping him – and really, everyone here –by getting rid of masses upon dirty masses of the fuzzy creatures. The cool, logical part of his mind took this time to interrupt. (You really shouldn't judge an entire race of people by one example. Look at yourself; not all half-elves are like you. Foolish boy.) Cooled by his sudden logical burst, he calmed his beating heart down and managed to get the pack out from its hiding place. All that he owned was inside that pack. And he relished its weight upon his back. Running back to the party, he realized that he was in better shape than he thought. He hadn't yet gotten winded. Still keeping his sword at ready should he need it, he came back to the carriage as it looked like a rallying point.

It was at this point he lost some of his battle guided instincts, for the party seemed to have a division between Solarin and the red-headed halfbreed. (Gah. I even call my own race a halfbreed,) he thought with a sigh. (I must learn to accept what I am.)

He just stood there, looking between the oddly mist-enshrouded carriage and the mercs, and knowing that he would go where he thought he could do the most good, and more than likely, where the dragon didn't. He wasn't sure how long he could be... kind.

Raven Darkblade:
:I Think Not! I know not of this Solarin's skill as ranger or scout, nor am I inclined to follow such a one and his haughty new companion blindly into who knows what sort of an elf haven. The horses and carriage will soon outdistance these filthy vrekhradgreshing furglkraksh screylinh and I will guide any of you who wish – and surely those within my carriage – to the road to the Citadel, and to shelter on the road.:

Raven cursed pungently in Karilanthian Elvish, kneeing Banshee after the carriage as Solarin turned Redlegs to do the same. :Flaming idiot,: she 'Said to Solarin. :Shelter on the road, my horse's rear end! If there were decent shelters on the road between here and Ansleigh, people wouldn't be getting eaten between there and here!:

Her partner's mindvoice was filled with anger and distaste. :He uses something like blood-magic, shayala. He will run our mounts to exhaustion at this pace.:

:Banshee and Redlegs can keep up, but I'll be damned if I let him haul us along 'til our horses founder. Even he has to sleep sometime.:

:Indeed, shayala,: Solarin 'Said grimly, leaning low over Redlegs's neck. :But we have a quandary. I will not follow him into his uncle's traps - but we cannot abandon the noncombatants who are in his carriage.:

:We'll have to stop soon, Solarin. We'll discuss, and work something out.: Raven dug her fingers into Banshee's mane, glancing over her shoulder for a fraction of a second to see if anything yet pursued. :I hope,: she amended.

And, as sunrise stained the horizon in a myriad of colors, they began to slow....

Claire:
Sand lost no time wrenching open the door to the carriage and tumbling inside. Her shoulder was bleeding freely and there seemed to be far too many bodies inside already. (We'll sort it out down the road,) she thought, (I just hope I don't sit on anybody who will kill me for it.)

As soon as Seashimmer reached the carriage, she brought her shields up to full strength. The Screylinh weren't intelligent so she wasn't picking up much from them, but it still felt like someone was sticking pins in her everytime they got hit.

(Thank Yseth I had them down a bit before, else I might not have realized what was happening out here until it was too late to leave). Sitting inside the carriage, all she could do was wait and listen to the sounds outside - until the door open and slammed shut again as Sand entered. Her face showed pain and there was blood dripping down her shoulder. With a muffled curse, Seashimmer dropped her shields again so she could heal. (Not that bad, though it probably doesn't feel that way to her - I can't imagine that she's gotten battle wounds many times before. Must be nice).

"Come over here and sit," she told Sand, who obeyed

"Can you -," Sand asked timidly, but Seashimmer wasn't paying attention to her words.

(Feel it, focus, there.) She heard an exclamation from Sand, as the injury transferred to Sea's shoulder.

"Thank you," said Sand. "Are you going to be all right?"

"You're welcome. I'm fine; it's what I do," she replied, then stopped paying attention again as she began to heal herself. The wound slowly drew shut as she concentrated, leaving only a scar which began to fade even as she watched. She drew up her shields again as she looked up. Someone else had entered the carriage while she was healing; Agalein stood, covered with blood, but a quick drop of her shields showed that nothing was wrong with her.

(And why is she in here? I would think that anyone with attitudes like her would have their own horse - maybe their own carriage. Not the best company....)

Something, meanwhile, had flowed into the carriage; something that, shields or no shields, she didn't feel at all. (What in the name of -) The mist coalesced into the form of a young woman while she watched, keeping her mouth shut by force of will. Even in this new form, she still couldn't feel anything. (Company. And I though Agalein was bad company. I should have guessed who would come in Xenon's carriage, but what is she?). She was jerked back in her seat as the carriage started moving. Looking around her, she saw various expressions ranging from shock to satisfaction (Why such from the carriage - oh. Someone's mindspeaking. Has to be. Why did I end up with a group that seems to considered mindspeech as normal as talking?) She cursed silently to herself, wondering what was being said. (Something important, obviously, and how do I get one of them to tell me?) She wished, not for the first time, that mindspeech was something that could be learned, not an inborn talent. (An inborn talent that's about as common among my people as godhood, too. There must be some way to simulate it using magic; maybe I should work on that when this is over.) She sighed, and settled in for a long ride.

Dax:
Zora gave a graceful flying leap and landed on the side board of the carriage. She slipped through the open door and slid into the soft black velvet seat across from a pretty elven woman.

(Thanks be to that demoner out there!) she thought. (WHAT in the name of the seven hundred and eighty six levels of hell which I am personally acquainted with are those stinking smelly vile wretched awful giggling... THINGS!)

Zora sat and fumed a bit, getting her breath. She'd been all ready to close the bank on that gulpingly cute and naive little halfer... (DRAT!)

The elven woman was looking out the window at the chaos and Zora noticed that there was a space around the carriage where it seemed the things could not come. Sure enough, one bounced off of nothing in midair about five feet from the carriage. Seeing that the elven woman was engrossed in the display, Zora quietly slipped out of the door on the other side of the carriage, pulling a fade-out as her and a fade-in as Zeke. She certainly did not want to be out here in all of this.

Zeke found himself exiting a very nice carriage, saw a horde of giggling jumping vicious somethings, and decided that that was not a good idea. He got back in the carriage and closed the door, sitting down just as the little bard of his dreams jumped in the carriage and sat on his lap. She was sooo lovely and... bloody. He sat quietly holding her on his lap, as a pretty elven woman in the seat across from him touched the Bard, took her wound, and then healed it in the healer's own flesh.

(Now that would not be fun!) Zeke thought. He hardly noticed as a couple more people got into the carriage, and then the carriage, with a horrendous leap, began to speed off, pell-mell, across a field. Zeke only then began to realize his incredible good fortune....

Adrienne:
Sorjo paced the room, his mind in turmoil He glanced over at the bed and considered throwing out the woman lying there, so that he could think in solitude. But she was still asleep and therefore not disturbing him. He took pity on her and let her be. Since he had come to Medivh's Citadel a few months ago, he had never lacked for bed partners. However, he had found that if he repetitively called for the same woman, she would disappear. He had inquired to Medivh about this after the third time it happened. Medivh had merely smiled one of his enigmatic smiles and said, "Women are toys; don't get too attached." This one, Shona, was probably due to disappear. Sorjo had witnessed what toys were used for by Medivh. It had made him sick.

But that wasn't what occupied his mind now. It was the message from Medivh that had Sorjo very agitated.

"Your wife is in the Kaladh. She will be here soon."

He was relieved that he would be with Aya again. He loved her; plus, it would be easier to regain his throne with her by his side. Except, he really didn't want her here, at the Citadel under Medivh's watchful eye. The message also included nothing about his children. He could assume they were with their mother, but he still worried.

Sorjo was also angry at Aya. He had told her specifically to stay in the nursery-hide. He was going to go back to her. When the battle had almost been lost, he had fled. Many of the attackers had followed him. He lost them and then he hid. He had returned to the palace for Aya after a couple days, only to find her gone. He had also found the King's Sword missing, along with much of Aya's jewelry and clothing. He had assumed the attackers had raided the coffers. He hid in the castle when the Tyrant arrived and claimed the throne. Sorjo waited in secret, hoping to learn something about what had happened to his wife. After several weeks, he found out that Aya had left on her own, taking all the things he had missed and had attributed to the attackers’ plundering.

He had tried to find her, but never could. He always felt that if she wanted to find him, she would have because of her mind powers. He had set off in an attempt to find Aya and his children, and also to find help in regaining his throne. That quest had brought him here, to the Kaladh and to Medivh's Citadel. He had systematically gone to all the nobles and royalty that could possibly help him regain his throne, or whom Aya might have found shelter with. He never found his wife and the nobles always refused aid.

After so many months of rejection, he had gone to seedier sources. These informed him of a powerful Adept in the Kaladh. Sorjo had searched him out. Medivh was the first person not to turn him away. Medivh had listened patiently, as everyone else had, but at the end had nodded instead of shaking his head.

"I understand your concerns and needs," Medivh had said. "However, due to some... unfortunate circumstances, my power base is weakened right now. I would like to help you. Give me a few months to rebuild myself. In the meantime, you may remain here, and we can make plans to take back your country."

Sorjo had jumped at the offer. The first month or so he had spoken to Medivh often, wanting to know when they would retake his throne. Medivh had put him off, saying, "Soon." Sorjo had participated in some of Medivh's entertainments when invited, but quickly grew sick of them. He spoke less and less often to Medivh, until most of their exchanges were by messengers. A few weeks ago, Sorjo had notified Medivh that he was leaving to see if someone else would be interested in helping him in his quest. Medivh had not let him leave. He had stated that one of his many plans was coming to fruition, and that he must have patience. Sorjo had wished him well with his plans and replied he still intended to seek out another person to aid him. Medivh had given Sorjo a look that, even now, still made him nervous. Sorjo had packed up his few belongings and tried to leave. He was not permitted. He was blocked physically and magically. Somehow, he could not bring himself to exit the Citadel.

Sorjo was beginning to believe that Medivh had done something to him in those first few months of contact. At some point since he'd come to the Citadel, the part of his mind where he used to feel Aya's sweet presence had become empty. At first he thought it was because Aya had died, but now he wasn't so sure, especially after Medivh's message that she was alive.

Needing distraction from his heavy and down thoughts, he turned back to his "toy" – glad now he hadn't thrown her out – ready to play.

Axe:
Xenon began to slow the carriage as the dawn broke over the trees and the road came into view. They had left the screylinh far behind, and the fighter types were racing this way, their horses all a'lather. They began to gather together as the carriage slid through the air over the field into the air over the road.

Xenon could feel himself coming down from the Power high and he set his shields carefully in place again, all well and feeling a bit tired. It was always strange – the feeling of power – and yet there was the tiredness that came with using the power of blood. It could, in fact, invigorate and refresh... but that was only with willing sacrifices of one's own blood or from another's willing sacrifice. He knew the seductive lure of the power of blood like a lover and he managed its dark pull carefully.

Xenon had wondered, as he slowed, just who was still wounded in the carriage, but the healer seemed to have healed everyone. Just as well. He preferred to save his own healing powers for himself and for emergencies, and though he had a good supply of healing draughts on him, they weren't easy or quick to make. He catalogued, in his mind, his store as the others rode up.

(The little blue ones for smaller injuries, and the little green ones for larger ones. I've eight of the first, and four of the latter,) he thought. (Then there are the very small yellow ones for poison, and the tiny purple ones for curing disease... six and six... the usual. Then there are the three larger blue-green ones for really large healings, and, of course, the black one for when all seems lost for someone.)

Why his mind was wondering over his stockpiles here on the road in the aftermath of a battle he didn't know, really, but he guessed it was something to do until the others decided just how – and about what – they were going to fuss at him.

:perhaps it is because you begin to worry for them Xenon my own: Kang said.

Xenon growled at Kang mentally, trying to feel as disgusted with that thought as he should, and, after asking Kang to de-armour his head and hands, he carefully, with great deliberation, beginning to clean his finger nails with his dagger as he let the carriage slowly move down the road into the dawn

Angie:
(Damn.) Shadowblade spied Xenon's carriage moving out of the impromptu battleground. Thankfully, the screylinh were already dead. Muranog was finishing with the last one. (No sense trying to help... the damned creatures are so small; we'd end up killing each other.)

She ran over to a half-elf to tell him of the leaving carriage, stooping to pick up another of her arrows. "They're leaving. I can't see Raven or Solarin, but the non-combatants are going…. You'd better run after them."

(I hope Ynys is alright.) Thankfully, none of their group lay on the field. The elf gathered her salvageable arrows and mindcalled to any stragglers on the grounds.

:People, move it! Xenon's left with the non-combatants. We had better run.:

That said, she made her way down the path that the carriage took, "tsk-ing" at the tracks. (But with something that big, it can hardly be helped.) Picking up the pace, she ran soundlessly until she found the carriage within seeing range. Seeing them slowing down, she decided to wait for the others before continuing. (Xenon might want to consider stopping for a while... the Healer might want to look at her patients more carefully.)

Typo:
Erelan had followed the others at some distance through the night, sporadically flaming the screylinh from above until the disgusting things gave up the chase. She wondered if the unprovoked attack was only to answer the mageworks flaming from the Midnight Sun, or a deliberate whip to the hindquarters to force the party to move. She knew nothing of screylinh, whether they were natural in this land, or Summoned creatures, and she lacked the finely-tuned mental gifts that could tell her. There was more to this game than the group knew - of that she was sure. She was also sure that someone, or several someones, in the party were traitors... she just had no idea who.

Now, she curled in the brightening dawn some distance from the rest of the party, where she could hear and vaguely see the camp, but would probably not be disturbed. Here, she tended her own slight wounds to the best of her ability. Most of them would heal in a few days, and though she could still feel the stickiness of blood down the sides of her neck, she was fairly sure even the bites behind her ears were not as bad as they felt.

As the sun rose, she drifted into a restless sleep, one abused ear cocked toward the group's campsite to listen for trouble. She would dream a dragon's dreams, the clarity and mystic beauty of which had stolen the freedom of so many of her people. Erelan had no love for dreams – there were times she wished for an end to them; too often they turned to nightmares. A dragon's mind was equipped for several millenia of life, and could block the worst of pain from conscious thought, but in dreams... in dreams, all manner of ghosts could come to life….

-*-

(My wings, bleeding, torn - oh, please... not my wings....)

Erelan twitched slightly in her sleep, curling her tail more tightly around her body. Inside her mind a younger version of herself shrieked in panic, fighting the heavy iron chain about her throat and legs, feeling the horror of wind that went through her wings with flames of pain. She flailed against the floor, bleeding, inarticulate horror catching in her throat at the realization she could see the floor through the holes in her wings.

(I didn't know it was so bad. I couldn't tell when the shot caught me - the pain, but....)

Another chain fell across her hips with a clank, pulled tight through the bolt-hooks in that stone floor. (The floor. I can see the floor through my wings – great tears in my wings – I can see the stones through the holes.) She hissed and screeched with fury and mindless fear, thrusting out her head to snap at the shadowy forms around her. There was blood in her mouth already - her own and the blood of the four demons she had killed. Another chain over her neck pulled her head sharply to the ground, and she cut her chin on the flagstones, rage and pain turning her cries uglier as the blurry forms yammered and gibbered in the red-washed golden glow of her eyes. She could not move; she hardly had room to breathe, and the world was tilting oddly, turning grey, then black, then firelit black, as her vision faded in and out. She hardly had the strength to resist as rough hands and talons forced the sharp metal bar between her teeth and pulled straps tight about her head and nose, muzzling her. (They'll kill me now – it's over – they'll kill me, now that they have me – I can't bite, can't fight – they'll kill me now – oh, my wings.)

Then green magelight filled her eyes and the creatures drew back. She shifted her head to the side as much as she could, her chin scraping painfully over the stones and a thin trickle of blood pooling from her cut mouth. That one. That - one. If she forgot her own name, she would remember that terrible, beautiful face. His mouth never seemed to move as he spoke to her, but his eyes were like an endless sea of black, a cruel midnight ocean where she would lose herself and forget that she ever wanted to be free.

(Time for school, little one.)

-*-

All her muscles convulsed once, and she woke, leaping to her feet at the residue of panic. (My wings – something's wrong with my wings – something's wrong with....) She whipped her head around in fear, but her wings were whole, translucent blue, and unscarred. Suddenly weak-legged, she carefully folded the enormous sails back and sank to the ground, as the rawness of her throat and pounding heart let her know another nightmare had come and gone. She could never remember exactly what they were about – only nameless fear and rage. Sometimes she thought she was going mad.

A dragon's mind was a study in the thin fabric between order and chaos. There were those who said the duality of ancient wisdom and primal instinct in a dragon's soul was too much for any sane creature, and that dragons by their very nature were dangerous, unpredictable beasts – to be avoided.

Of course, these were the same people who swore that the world was flat.

Dragons rarely fell prey to insanity. Perhaps it was the knowledge of how thin the boundaries of rational thinking were, that kept them in check. Perhaps it was simply the patience born of knowing that time was on their side. Even the tiny Birch Mountain dragons, the mayflies of their kind, had nearly a thousand years of life to enjoy. Erelan's race had several millenia – from the time of their hatching until they needed to worry about old age. With a scant nineteen decades of life in the world beyond the Shell, Erelan was little more than a child, but in that relatively short time, she had already lived more than a good many of her kind. She had seen and experienced more than most of them would have wished.

(Like Luine Tor,) she thought, and shuddered. That one had been a Black Adept, and had bound her to his use some years ago, when she was a child and far too innocent of the world. Her memories of him were hazy but for a few strikingly clear details. She had found that if she tried to remember most of the times she spent trapped in his fortress, her inner sight became blurry and her stomach turned queasy with fear.

All that was well and good. It was a time she wished she could forget altogether.

But she did remember a few things - that the mage had coerced her to fight – (How did he coerce me - I was a gentle creature before he took me – I can't remember....) – and trained her well in the art of war; how he had chained her at the foot of his court throne as a symbol of his power; how he forced her to wake the information within the dragonstones for his use and amusement; and what he did to Muriel.... She also remembered how the Black Adept had died, with her jaws locked about his throat – (He took her – he killed Muriel to raise the power to enter my mind – I was more beast than sentient – I was alone, afraid, demons all around me – I was lost and he was part of my mind, speaking in demon in my mind – it drove him mad he could not bring order to the chaos – it drove him mad, and I tore his throat out more like an animal than... than... a dragon.) She shook the memories away with a hiss, biting down on the grief that rose up in her heart at the thought of Muriel, once her dearest friend. The evil one was gone. Whatever he did those many years ago was gone, and she was free of him forever. Pressing her chest back to the cool ground, she closed her eyes, praying to the great flames of the rising sun for an end to dreams and memories.

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