Darvoso:
Sofaltis easily traveled the path made by Etain and her horse, but her urgency caused him to put some speed into his movements, tired, though, he was. He heard the arguments and some rebuttals; truth be told, he didn't care. He wanted rest. Still somewhat dazed by the dagger he had received from Etain, he almost walked right out into the clearing, noticing just how big the group was.

Tired, he stayed where he was at the edge of the clearing, and he wondered what they were going to do. When the Knight showed up, he had the feeling things were going to get interesting....

Typo:
The group seemed to be slowing finally, and that was a good thing. Erelan dropped to the ground at a slight distance from the rest of the gathering group, and a bit more heavily than she liked. She was tired, covered with blood and patches of screylinh fur, and her ears hurt enough to irritate her. She shook herself once from head to tail-tip, sending the last bits of dried mud and dust flying off in all directions, wishing heartily for a bath.

At least the roads were big enough to let the carriage pass. They wide enough to see from the air, so she had been able to follow the largest group of travellers. She had noticed a few missing, but as far as she could tell, most had seemed to rejoin the party by now. There were a few scents and faces she did not recognize, but then, she hadn't taken the time to get to know everyone in the hurried flight from the inn.

Pushing a small tree branch out of his way, a renegade Church Knight of Laoghaire crept up on what sounded like a large group of people in a clearing nearly fifty yards from his current position. He paused to shift his nine-foot long samurai styled sword a little higher on his back, and moved closer.

Erelan saw the man just a little ahead of her and off to her right, and lowered herself into a hunting stalk before she even thought to ask his place. She sized him up as not a terribly threatening enemy, though the huge sword on his back definitely caught her attention. Large and sharp-looking blades usually did.

She belly-slunk behind him, wings drawn tight against her back and head low to the ground. Even the usually-twitching tip of her tail was still as she glared at him through the leaves, her body pulled into a catlike crouch, poised to spring at any time, but so gracefully relaxed that she could sit there for hours, waiting, if need be. The man pushed forward, finally, entering the clearing with sword sheathed – (always a good sign) – and presented himself to the group as a non-enemy. She relaxed still further and silently crept forward to peer out into the clearing, her tail tip rustling the leaves just faintly as it flipped slowly back and forth.

Izzy:
(Half-elven... and Savar's kin.) Atalaya grimaced. (The things I put up with for my god. We'd damned well better accomplish something here... if I have to deal with this for nothing I'm going to be extremely irritated.) Turning, she was about to say something to the half-elf when she noticed a figure appear out of the corner of her eye. Snapping around on her heel, the Karilanthian warrior had her sword half-drawn before she saw the man.

(Human. Doesn't seem like he's with Savar. Nor does he feel like some kind of demon – I'd know if he was.) Slowly, she replaced her blade and stood, watching the newcomer carefully. "Ah. Where did you come here from, then?" Atalaya asked calmly, on her guard for any suspicious responses.

Axe:
Solarin, apparently disdaining to reply, led the carriage and the rest about a quarter of a mile further along the road and then followed some wagon ruts along a path towards a circle of stones. Xenon had been fuming mad at the look of disdain from the paladin which he perceived from his body language to be at his half elven parentage. He held his tongue however, and let the anger distill into the calm and controlled elixir he would happily serve back up to him when the time came. If it did. It wasn't worth going out of his way for, but he did hope he developed a nice case of saddle boils, stopping just short of sending it out and on to her as a curse.

He saw the great form of the dragon drop down a way away in the early morning sunlight, and he hoped she would just leave. She had had a fit over the cursing in demon he had done and he wasn't in the mood to fight with her. It wouldn't be pretty for either side he was sure.

(Frag, everyone is tired,) he thought as they entered the stone circle. (And there’s probably three fourths of the problem.) He looked over the familiar circular clearing which was roughly forty feet in diameter. Very little of it was hewn from stone; it was a grouping of up-thrust spires of granite which had been hewn on a bit here and there, and it had two large overhangs under which shelter could be taken. A large fire pit had been dug in the middle long ago, and he knew from experience that digging in this particular fire pit could be, well... enlightening. Many things traveled the road in the Kaladh. Not all were picky eaters.

On the east, the stones were farther apart and didn't join up as fully as they did on the north and south. The road ran along the west side of the rocks and the spires fetched up flush together there as well, except for an eight and a half foot opening into which he had just driven the wagon. Forest pressed against the circle on the eastern side, and there were three four to seven foot wide openings between the stones there.

Solarin had begun to check out the clearing – Xenon supposed for safety purposes – and Xenon circled the carriage up about three feet out from the north face. There was a nice large overhang there, and he thought the larger one which had more cave to it on the south face would be best for the troll and some of the others, including their mounts. The first overhang was basically an out thrusting of stone at about twelve feet in height, reaching out about six feet over the clearing and leading about eight feet into the stone. The one on the south, out-thrust in a like manner, but at about fifteen feet, not twelve, reaching about ten feet into the clearing. It led back into the stone about nine feet, and then a cave of about twenty feet in length and about eight feet wide and tall had been partially hewn out of a fissure in the natural stone.

On the east side near the forest was a small pit which had served many as jacks, being comfortably near a low, quite convenient, overhanging branch. The elven ranger was still examining who knew what; the troll, the fairy, the other half elf, Solarin's partner, the paladin, the little cutie called 'Blade and the angel beauty had just dragged themselves into the clearing, and people were just about to get out of the carriage when a man stepped out of the woods.

The man announced himself to the group as others began to stretch and others alighted from the carriage. Xenon felt Delane shift beside him and he wondered what she would decide to do. The man continued to talk, mainly to the fraglrgritch brgdrgvrattig paladin, showing no sign of antagonism, and only appearing truly nervous when he looked at the angel babe.

(I wonder what he has with her?) Xenon thought. He saw the dragon come slinking forward, peering out of the trees after the man had advanced, and he couldn't help but admire her sleek beauty despite himself. Then he found himself staring in the direction of the big sheep – (how could you help it she was huge?) – and thinking of how nice hot mutton would be right now... and then shut off those thoughts completely. He had never eaten a sentient – (to his knowledge but you never knew at the Citadel) – of his own free will, and he didn't intend to start now.

He slid down off the carriage and helped Delane down after the rest had exited. Most everyone looked fairly tired, and he was pretty sure the ranger, at least, would call for a rest, some food, and then ask to post guards. He smiled to himself, knowing that that most likely would be an opportunity for fun since he didn't think many of them would be willing to trust him to guard alone for a shift. (Ah well,) he thought, (let the fighter types earn their keep).

He moved around the carriage between it and the rock, not losing sight of the others for long and pretending to check the phantom horses over, while he pulled some wrapped preserved beef, two bags of small tubers and a great quantity of cracked wheat out of the dimensional pouch at his waist. The pouch distended in a strange manner, and eyes tended to flick away from the opening as he pulled objects too big for the mouth of it out and set them on the running board of the carriage. When he was done, Kang re-extended over it, hiding its aura within his own again.

He then set the items on the ground, and then, with a wave of his hand, dismissed the carriage and horses. He chuckled quietly to himself as the demon boy half of the two-soul, who was leaning against it, nearly pitched over backwards, and ended up backstepping until the boy/man? was just in front of him. He reached out and grasped Zeke’s collar, holding him up until he regained his balance... which wasn't long, Xenon noticed. He almost smiled, since he could almost hear the guy's heart beating furiously.

(I know, I know,) he thought to himself. (You just want a warm fire, a good drink and a willing wench. You remind me of Dak.) Xenon palmed the last item he had taken from his pouch and used two fingers to open it. The smell of sweet rich brandy poured forth like a bacchanalian spring, and he offered it to the demon boy as he turned, releasing his collar.

"Here friend," he said. "Have a drink if you wish. And careful of your step!" Xenon smiled into the demon boy's eyes and waited to see if he would take the proffered flask.

Ámp:
Jonas thanked the God that he had had the sense to shield the Masamune as soon as he had sensed that there were magic users in the party. Although his own magical skills were little more than average, no one would guess the sword's true nature unless they actively probed it... (and hopefully none of them will think to do so). He was fairly sure that, outside of a certain few, being found to use a demon-weapon was not a good way to start things like this off.

"Ah. Where did you come here from, then?"

The Angel had not yet denounced him, though surely she knew the Masamune. A faint bit of hope began to build in him. (Maybe, just maybe, I can manage to survive this in one piece... I do hope so....) With a little more confidence, he turned to face the one who had addressed him, allowing a little confusion and distress to enter his neon-green Changeling's eyes. (A little honest lie surely wouldn't be uncalled for here... since the truth would also entail explaining this big pig-sticker on my back....)

"Lady, I do not know definitely... I am merely a wanderer with some small talent for sword-work and a little magic. Nearly four months ago, I suffered an accident, and since that time I have been susceptible to brain-storms – during which, it seems, large pieces of my memory erase themselves somehow. I only know that I awoke this morning several miles away from here. The last I remember before that, I worked as a guard for a merchant in Port Orris.…" Moving slowly, he walked closer towards the group. "I ask that you please allow me to go with you to wherever it is you are heading, if you have no objections, at least until I can get my bearings and figure out what to do now. By the by... where is this, anyway?"

Angie:
Agalein floated up to a tree branch – her favourite sitting place – and took out her flute. As always, as she placed her fingers on the holes, a feeling of warmth and peace surged through her at a memory of a time past. When had she learnt how to play the instrument, it had been the best time in her life. Her father had been alive then, and she had had the best friend she had ever had.

Both of them had gone from her life so fast. Her father was dead, her elven friend too, several years before. Agalein couldn't even remember why her friend left her; she had been still a little girl at that time. The songs that her friend had taught her were the only way she could hold on to the sweet memories.

She wished she could play it as well as the elf. The songs were so beautiful that Agalein had wanted to cry and laugh at the same time when she had first heard the elf play. He had played them for her. The songs had brought nature to her ears – cheerful chirps of birds, the sombre hush of winds.... She put the flute on her lips and started to play....

Shadowblade started at Agalein's playing. The tune was... familiar. She straightened, putting aside the whittling of more arrows. She glanced at the woman playing the tune. (Could it be? No... no, it can't! She died... she had to have died!) And fickle memory brought her once more to a sun-dappled clearing beside a quiet village. A village that had fallen under the onslaught of Medivh Savar's army.

A little girl, no more than eight, had chanced upon her meditation in the shade of the leaves of a great tree. The girl had squirreled her way up the trunk to explore the ancient titan. Shadowblade had been startled... she had been a young elf who had not learned not to meditate on a tree branch.

A fall from those branches had resulted in the beginnings of a friendship between elf and human. After all, the human girl had helped her back to the small dwelling she had chosen for her own.

'Blade remembered the days they had spent together. The little girl turned out to be musically-inclined, and she had helped to nurture that inclination with flute lessons. She had taught the girl tunes that she had composed in the elven courts. Tunes that no other should have heard.…

:'Blade, are you alright?: Ynys' concerned mindvoice broke into her reverie and she shook herself into the present. :Yes, yes. I'm alright. I was just... thinking.: She turned back to her arrows, feeling the wood beneath her fingers.

The tune that Agalein was playing was one that she taught the little girl so long ago. The little trill in the middle of the piece was added on the whim of a young girl who loved the songs of birds.

'Blade's knife cut the fletching on the arrows, and cut a sharp point at the end of the arrow. She thought absently, (Next time I'll bring extra arrowheads and feathers. We can't go without food... I wonder if milord Xenon has thought of that yet... I believe a little hunting is in due order.…)

The elf stood up, placing her knives back in order and the arrow she had finished in her quiver. The collection was miserably small but they would have to do. She gave her small tent another check. The little shelter would make do.

'Blade had to find out the reason behind Agalein's knowledge. She just had to. Leaving Ynys behind to sort out the other belongings, she made her way gingerly to the woman sitting on a branch.

Agalein saw Shadowblade approaching her.

"Where did you learn that tune?" Blade asked her cautiously, not wanting to sound too nosy, hoping against hope.…

"A friend taught me long ago," Agalein answered, eyeing Blade curiously. Why did the elf want to know?

"A friend?" The elf lifted an eyebrow. Her eyes narrowed, as if imagining a much younger Agalein. "Was your friend by any chance going through a rite of passage when you met her?"

"How did you know? How...." Agalein's voice trailed off as a thought struck in her mind. (Could it be...?)

'Blade's eyes widened slightly, pain and shock evident in her eyes. (It's her.) She took a step back, shaking her head slightly, denying... denying that the girl-child could have become this... woman. (How? Why?) That last thought made itself audible. "Why?..." The elf's voice cracked on that single word.

Muranog:
Sable crashed out of the undergrowth and into the clearing, catching up at last with Xenon and the others now that the carriage had slowed down and finally stopped. With a wave of his hand, Muranog dismissed the incorporeal projection of himself that had been gliding through the air beside the carriage and keeping track of the conversation. Then he slid off Sable's back and began to examine the clearing, nodding to himself with some satisfaction after inspecting the large but low cave on the south side and the smaller but higher cave on the north side. The troll was just breaking out some dried venison and grain for Sable and some stone bread for himself from the huge war sheep's saddlebags, when both his and Sable's battle-honed senses detected the arrival of a newcomer. Turning swiftly, Muranog regarded the new arrival intently with his physical sight, while invoking Mage-Sight and danger senses to determine if the newcomer posed any immediate threat. A quick tendril of thought from Sable told him that the war sheep was doing the same with her own mind-magic abilities. Neither troll nor sheep found any immediate cause for concern, though the blade on the man's back caught and held their attention.

:Nine foot sword, hmm. Wonder if he can wield it without falling over?: Sable privately bespoke her troll mindmate.

:If he can, he's far stronger than the lore texts suggested humans were,: Muranog replied in the same private mode. :Barely over half my height and he carries a sword two feet longer than mine. Impressive. Perhaps our texts on humans need some updating,: the troll suggested. :Quite possible, since you and I are, after all, the first folk of Ironhold to see a real living human in over six centuries… then again, that sword of his is clearly enspelled, though someone's shielded its exact nature. Maybe it holds an enchantment of weightlessness?:

:You could probably probe it easily enough, mindmate. At least, the man doesn't feel like an Adept to block you,: the war sheep ventured.

:True, but we know little about him… by his words just now, he knows little about himself! And if he does feel the probe, he might react with violence. There are noncombatants here, Sable, and they could be hurt if he turns violent, suddenly, with a large and obviously magical sword like that.: The troll countered her suggestion. :We've seen enough noncombatants fall to the accursed dark elves – may they be denied fire and warmth forever – and I'd sooner not see any more fall to violence. But we'd best keep an eye on him for the moment anyway. I do not like the way he stares at Fallenangel, and we owe her, more than anyone else here, a personal debt, after her bondmate helped us against that second Ghoulcat.:

:So we watch him and hope to learn more?: the war sheep asked.

:We do,: Muranog replied. :Unless he draws steel against Fallenangel, in which case, by K'Sath's Flames, I incinerate him where he stands.:

The troll finished breaking out the food, and both he and Sable began to eat, their stomachs gratefully thanking them. Muranog noticed some of the other travellers, Xenon in particular, staring at Sable, and guessed that they had never seen a meat-eating sheep before. If he recalled rightly, the lowland sheep around these parts were herbivores, as well as being far smaller and less intelligent than Sable's kind. Well, that was hardly surprising, since the trolls of Ironhold had specifically bred the war sheep for size, intelligence and mindmagic gifts for thousands of years. Munching on their rations, troll and war sheep waited for whatever might come next.

Rainbow:
Darro's long strides carried him through the forest at a very quick pace. The green leafy boughs of the trees sometimes brushed his head, leaving a cold and wet feeling on his brow, but he didn't care. He was burning up, and the cool relief of the water soothed his senses until the burning fever overtook his body again. This was not normal for him. He was never sick, unless you counted the week he spent raving and delirious in Flaimeholt, ill with the marsh-fevers. He shuddered, remembering the nightmare – endless spirals into darkness, hideous faces laughing, the falling sensation, horrible bright colors lacing through his vision... and the worst part of it all was reliving the memories... but they were not his memories... they were altered....

He shook his head, concentrating instead on navigating the rocky crag through which he was passing. One false move off the foot-wide ledge and he would be vulture – (or worse; who knew what lurked in this dark forest) – food. His sword was overbalancing him, so he stopped for a moment and put it on his back. His knives were safe and ready for any problems that could occur, and the staff he walked with was equipped with steel blades among other things.

Passing the entrance to a cave, he heard gentle murmurings inside. (It's probably just some peasants playing love-games,) he thought in disgust. (I'll just leave them alone.)

When he was about a yard away from the cave, he heard the unmistakable sound of a Ghoulcat – one of the only sounds those near-invisible felines ever made. It was a slow hissing, followed by a short growl. That was the only warning they ever gave, and if it was heard, the hearer had better run.

He quickly ran back to the cave, thinking it a more defensible spot. Jumping over a rock, he quickly loosed his tinderbox and a small torch attachment that he hooked to the end of his staff. Lighting the torch, he could now see those in the back of the cave.

-*-

Rainbow was plain frightened. Dee was acting like it was all her fault! :Dee! I thought it was for the best! You're not brilliant at fighting, you KNOW that!:

:You should have stayed with the others! It's dangerous out here, and it's not right for a Princess and a, well, Noblewoman of the pegasi race, to be stuck in the mud and cold, in a cave!:

Rainbow sighed, and suddenly the sigh got louder and ended in a growl.

"That wasn't me!" she whispered to Dee.

:Ghoulcat!: Dee's ears went back and she maneuvered her friend into a corner.

Suddenly footsteps sounded and a young man entered, startling Dee into rearing lightly, her wings brushing the ceiling. :I don't like him.... How do we know he's not the Ghoulcat shapeshifted?:

(I don't know anything about Ghoulcats!) Rainbow thought, carefully shielding. (How on earth does Dee?)

-*-

It was a girl and some kind of horse-being. He had never seen a horse with wings before, and it startled him. ('Tisn't natural. Must be a crossbreed, but with what?) His attention shifted to the girl. (She's pretty, but a little homely in this light. Must be a peasant lass and her pet.) Deciding that they were no threat to his safety, he spoke.

"Hullo, sorry to barge in, but there's a Ghoulcat about. I dinae know if you had ample protection, and this is a good defensive spot."

The girl looked bewildered, but the horse... he could swear it was angry!

He began to unpack his various weapons from his person and his sack. "I'm Darro Kalamesh. Who are you?"

Rainbow looked the man over, and decided she liked what she saw. "I'm Princess Rainbow Faye, Heir to the throne of Animi. Over the Worldsend mountains," she added, remembering what Raven had called the mountains. (Only a few days ago...) "This is Dee'rina Harnon, a Pegasi and a nobly born one. The daughter of the Herd Leader."

:Shut up!: Dee snarled, :I don't like him, he smells... evil.:

:He probably is dirty, Dee! Now shut up!:

Darro laughed. "Perchance in yer dreams, lass, but dinna lie t' me... If yer a princess, then I'm an Emperor. B'sides, what's a princess doin so far from home? Na, now settle down. Once this Ghoulcat passes I'll take ye back to yer village. Now, Shhh!"

He crouched near the doorway, extinguishing the light. Strangely enough, he heard no sound from the girl through the oppressive darkness. (Well, then she's just a fearless lass, but a lass nonetheless. I cant leave her here with this Ghoulcat....) His sword was drawn, his staff was ready. He had learned about the Ghoulcats from his stay in Flaimeholt, but he was still wary. He had seen the bravest and strongest fairies felled by these nasty beasties.... Many warrior fairies in the past had been killed in their prime by such creatures....

He listened as the hissing grew louder, then fainter....

Kathryn:
Fallenangel glanced toward the coach, hoping that the people there had reached a decision. She froze as the group parted, giving her a glance of a newcomer with a giant samurai sword strapped on his back. (The sword. How did he get the Sword?) Her mind raced back to the time that it was stolen. (He's had it... Good God....) Emotions warred for control on her face, then settled in a icy rage. (How dare he....)

All this took but a few seconds, and she had turned her horse toward the group before she realized, having no attention for anything but the man and the sword. She saw his shock – it flicked across his face as he recognized her for what she was. Then it was quickly hidden. She came close enough to hear his words as he turned to the rest of the group.

"Good day, fellow travelers. I am known as Jonas Avaré. May I inquire as to your identities? And where is this? I'm afraid I'm new in this area...."

Cutting off Atalaya’s question to Jonas, Fallenangel rode in front of the Knight. (He must be a Divine Knight; or rather, used to be. There's no other way he would have even known of the sword Masamune....) Staring coolly down at Jonas Avaré, Fallenangel swept her cloak off her shoulders, revealing her wings.

"You know what I am." She fixed him with a icy glare. "Now why don't you tell me exactly what you are, and where you got that sword."

Adrienne:
Aliaya stopped alongside the road for the final time that day. She was exhausted from walking as far as she had, carrying as much as she had. She found a cove in the trees and settled in.

Once she had reached the road hours before, the raven had directed her to go a certain direction. She had obliged, feeling that he was directing her both to Dak and to his bonded, and inevitably, to safety.

Aliaya had not been afraid of the woods before her encounter with the beast that had wanted to eat Ruvan. Now she could not wait to leave the trees. She didn't understand why she had traveled for weeks in this very forest without harm or meeting anything sentient, and yet, in the last few days, she'd met an elf, a beast-thing and this mind-talking bird.

She heightened her mind-senses to the extreme so that even a wandering rabbit would disturb her with its intent on travel. She hoped that she could either run or defend herself from anything that disturbed her. Lightly, she rested.

Katie:
Kay Silversong sat down wearily by the side of the road and waited for her bondmate, Winddancer, to double back from his scouting. She pushed her silvery bangs out of her eyes and sighed. (After all this traveling, not one sign of anything. I can't believe my luck. I haven't seen a soul on this road, and there's no way we're that far from civilisation. 'Dancer would have noticed if we'd been thrown into a gate or something.)

The wolf slipped up beside her, silent as a leaf falling. :Kay, there's a group of people camped ahead of us. If they stay where they are, we'll catch up to them tomorrow. They look like fighters, and they stink of magic. Even you could notice it! Prey for the pickings, to any Dark Creature. I suggest that we hang back until they do something that says good or bad to us. Or rather, ME, since you're oblivious...:

"Thank you so much, my dear. And who is the one that found the sword?"

:That was me, again. Silver, you fell through the cavern's roof and landed in a pile of junk left by some mage. I was the one who found the sword. It could have killed you.:

"I know, but that's how things happen to me. I have the worst luck imaginable. All right, we'll hang back and hope that they don't notice us, or, if they do, they're friendly to the Light."

Kay set up camp and made dinner, while her bondmate sat and watched, the wolf's perpetual grin mocking her. The two shared companionable silence as dark fell and the dusk turned into true night.

Raven Darkblade:
Solarin restrained a weary sigh at Xenon's reply to him. (I have neither the time nor the energy to argue with this man, whether he is in the right or not – or whether neither of us are.) Without a word, he urged Redlegs forward. (I shall debate with him later. For now, we need to settle in and rest and plan.)

Before long he arrived at the prospective campsite. He dropped from Redlegs's back, tossing the reins to Raven as she pulled up beside him, and moving into the surrounding trees to scout.

Raven dismounted, leading the horses over to a sheltered spot and systematically untacking them, rubbing them down before tethering them. All the while she kept a light mental contact with Solarin, staying half-prepared for any alarm, and paying little attention to the preparations of the others of the group. :Someone will have to hunt... I doubt any of us has enough food to go 'round, and I'd sooner eat hobgoblin trail stew than anything Agalein offers.:

:One of us can go later on in the day,: Solarin answered absently. :Mor can doubtless find something for you if you can keep him around long enough.:

:Anything suspicious out there?: she asked him, although she already had a good idea from their rapport.

:Not a thing. I'd almost feel better if there was something. I can't believe Savar would let us off that easily.:

:He didn't,: Raven responded grimly, laying down their packs out of range of the horse's hooves. :This is just the beginning. From what I know of him, he prefers to work by night, anyhow.:

Solarin emerged silently from the trees, near the place where he had gone in. :Ah, well. One last check.…:

The elven ranger made his way over to the firepit. He kneeled and began to work his fingers into the rain-softened earth. His earth-senses, although a natural gift of his race, were not strong enough to work efficiently without direct contact with the earth. He dug his hands up to his wrist into the dirt, closed his eyes and felt for any threat or disturbance the earth could show him.

The elves were bound to the living earth. Stone was beyond Solarin's ability to penetrate. He spread his senses out as far as they could reach, searching....

Axe & Dax:
Xenon was intensely amused at the look of utter dejection and unhappiness on the two-soul boy's face when he first turned towards him. Then he heard Xenon's words and the look on his face was priceless.

"I just....", Zeke started – (oh, he knows that already,) Zeke realised, catching his thought since Xenon had just released his collar. (Oh, drek, it’s the Demoner... what do I say?). "Uh, yeah, I will, watch my step, that is." (Was that some kind of warning?) He then connected his nose to his brain and smelled the proffered brandy. (A drink!) "Sure, thanks, uh, friend." He took the etched silver flask gingerly and sidled away before taking a long draught. (Heaven! Now we just need someone to start the fire.)

Xenon smiled and held out his hand for his flask. The elf mimic put it back in his hand only with the greatest reluctance. "Why don't you ask the troll to start the fire?" Xenon asked. "He seems quite good at such things... unless you have... ahhh... some little problem with trolls in general perhaps?" Xenon almost died laughing at the look on the demon two-soul boy's face, but he never cracked more than a tiny devilish smile.

(Oh, impling! I keep forgetting about the troll!) Zeke lamented to himself.

:How can you forget a ten-foot tall troll, imbecile?: Zora finally said with disgust.

"No, no problems with trolls at all. His people and mine have been friends for generations; many of we Karilanthian elves fought with them against the demons and our dark cousins. Surely he will not mind lighting the campfire for friends such as we," Zeke said with more bravado than he felt. (Maybe if I keep denying what I am he will begin to believe it. If not him then the rest will, and they will defend me when Xenon tries something foul, like binding.)

Xenon mind spoke the idiot at this point. :Not if you keep sending out such ideas over the common mindwaves hereabouts like a little demonic beacon in the middle of one of the troll homes. You moron.: Xenon sighed out loud. :I am willing to bet that you will be coming to me begging for protection before long... especially if the troll ever gets a whiff of what you are under that little amulet.... Ah, well. Lucky for you I'm having Kang shield us, and though the troll seems to be good, he won't be hearing us through that. Besides, though, your sister might be a fine dally – which she would probably give me at any rate – you seem far and away too nervous to be much more than a trouble alarm likely to sound whenever the wind blows, the ants move, or a leaf falls near you. You should probably just hope that I do take a liking to you and decide to help you out. And don't worry... I don't have any reason to say aught to any about your true nature... at present.:

Xenon smiled at the demon boy and slapped him gently on the shoulder as he walked on by. Out loud he said, in a voice meant to carry throughout the clearing, "Why don't you help me carry all of these supplies out into the centre Zeke? They should be enough to feed everyone here for three or four days, excepting good yon troll and those more inclined to grazing." Without further comment, Xenon picked up a small barrel of cracked wheat, set a bag of tubers on top of it, walked out into the clearing and set it down.

Zeke picked up the remaining barrel and bags, grateful to have something to do, and carried them to the centre of the clearing, as well. (Moron? What right does he have to call me a moron? And then in the same breath say that I'll come begging to him for protection? I can protect us. I can fight. I have magic.…)

:Because you are a moron.: Zora interrupted his righteous tirade. :He is most likely listening to your mental rantings and having the most delicious laugh, as am I. How could I have birthed you? Just do what he says and don't antagonize him. And don't talk to anyone,: Zora finished. :You're likely to blow our cover and we'll have to flee without a carriage to ride in, and you know how tired you get walking.:

(I hate you,) Zeke thought, VERY tightly shielded, to himself, and then set the packages down. Just then he noticed the elven ranger walking up to the firepit in the center. (Maybe he's going to light the fire? That would be nice and maybe I can talk to him....)

:You do that Zeke,: Xenon sent to him. :Please just be careful not to be too... uhmmmm.... well just a word of advice, since I really mean you no harm, and you are, no doubt, an excellent fighter – just remember he is a Karilanthian pureblood... and several other things indecent for even shielded mind speech... and he is about to be very unhappy at the types of things and impressions he is going to find in that fire pit....: Xenon broke off and Zeke saw the look in his eye that only one of his nature could recognize in a face as schooled as Xenon's. He was locked in internal mind speech with another and all contact was cut off.

:Xenon my own,: Kang sent to him, bursting in on his converse and feather unruffling with Zeke. It surprised Xenon to hear another in a heavily shielded conversation... but since Kang was doing a good deal of the shielding and was bonded to Xenon as well, he supposed it should not come as a surprise really.

:What Kang?: Xenon sent.

:your acquaintance the elf called dak is lying in the bushes about two hundred yards up the road further and he is hurt and has broken parts in him and i thought you might wish to assist him since you seem to like him well enough and thus i am informing you of his need and asking if we will now be going to that place which i have now mentioned wherein lies the elf dak your acquaintance: was the clear but rushing and worried reply.

Zeke barely noticed Xenon hurriedly leave the clearing, as intent as he was on watching the elven ranger, wondering what could be in the fire pit that was going to so upset him.

Xenon spoke to none as he exited the clearing. (What – in the forty-seven levels of the hells which I have personally been to – have you gotten yourself into this time, Dak, you idiot?) he pondered as he walked at a stately pace from the clearing. He then set off at a fast run, as if he were engaged in some morning exercise. (Of all the people I could find out here in the Kaladh, I would never have expected you, you city-living, non-wilderness-traveling, useless-in-the-forest, street-beggar-thief-of-an-elf. What could you be doing out here, and what kind of busted parts could you have?) Xenon's worried tone prompted Kang to assay another thought send.

:is it then now permissible to consider this elf dak your friend Xenon my own and not just an acquaintance since you seem to be worried for him and you seldom have ever cared much for any others we have met in our travels together so far who was not female Xenon my own: Kang sent.

:No! I don't care in such a way for anyone – especially not an elf – save you Kang,: Xenon sent irritated. :He is just a useful employee and his skill set is valuable in multiple city tasks. I am protecting an investment of time in going to find him... nothing more, Kang:

As Xenon neared the place where Dak lay, the already winding road took a sharp turn and dipped down towards some bushes before the tree line began. A flash of black colour informed Xenon that the black horse Dak had last stolen was still with him. It was far too good a horse for the likes of Dak, being an incredibly well-trained war, trick, trail, guard and who-knew-what-else stallion of the finest breeding.

As Xenon turned to head down into the bushes, Kang sent one more time.

:i kang think you do have caring for the elf this dak Xenon my own it is not a wrong to do so but so very good and i will say though you will not like it sorrow that you do not i love you that it is a very good and you should have a friend who is more like you and i know you do not like to consider your elven heritage but i do know this dak very very much is liking you and would be so happy to be your friend....:

:PLEASE shut up Kang!: Xenon sent in exasperation. He had no mind to deal with Kang's rantings, and did not like where they were going at any rate. He slid down the bank and eased towards the Black, letting it regain his scent. Then he knelt to see what injuries this idiot elf had sustained.

The deirtrikitcligikr elf was wearing no shirt or shoes, and was wrapped in bandages on his torso and head. There was blood showing on both of the wrappings, and his body had been abraded all over. He was deep in fever and delirium as well. Damning all of the dark gods of luck that he had to show up here and now with so many nosy busybodies around, Xenon cast an opaque circle of protection around them all, taking in the Black, and then added a scryblock series of spells in a sphere around them, asking Kang to shield as well. Dregritch bregatheg if he was going to be caught in healing in front of these holier than thou fregrathgrugs he was traveling with. He noticed that Dak was missing his sword but had retained his wrist daggers somehow, and that the Black was no longer saddled. With these thoughts in mind, he started to unwrap the bindings on Dak's wounds.

There were huge claw furrows dug into his back and shoulders, and a head contusion. The wounds showed unmistakable signs of infection caused by demon claws as well as filth. There were also the abrasions – the fever and bruising suggesting strongly of several badly broken ribs. His wounds looked as though they had been sewn by the hand of a harpy drunk on lotus flowers, or a very very hurt elf. He also smelled strongly of garlic and brandy as well....

(Hmm, I see, Dak,) Xenon thought. (Using the Dakorillon brand of healing potion again... I see. Why didn't you use the blue one I gave you, I wonder?) Then Xenon sighed and began to put his long years of study to use.

He laid out a fresh silk blanket from his pouch and carefully moved Dak onto it. He groaned and flailed out, but Xenon dodged the unaimed strikes. :SLEEP DEEP,: he cast and commanded Dak's wearied feverish mind. The elf sank back into a deeper sleep – from which there would be no awakening until Xenon willed it. He knew from long experience that Dak's mind obeyed well, and the tap he had into it wouldn’t hurt the process either....

He used a cantrip to remove the rest of Dak's clothing and bandages, then carefully cleansed his body and sterilized the area with magic. A small spell of healing, carefully applied, closed the worst of the seeping wounds, but would not interfere with later healing. He then began to work back through Dak's problems in a calm methodical manner.

Of first import was to break the demon fever, and that he could readily do. He banished the lingering malaise and treated the demon caused wounds with a potion which cured disease, taken from his pouch. He could cast the spells himself, but he was beginning to realize how tired he was, and though he hated to admit it, soon he would be unable to continue if he did not use liberally from his stores.

As the first potion bubbled the demon and filth-caused disease and infection from Dak’s wounds, Xenon carefully cantripped the foulness away. Once that was completed – and it wasn't long, since he was using his very best potions – he pulled the stopper from a green bottle and poured its contents carefully, bit by bit, onto Dak's back and head. The wounds began to close immediately and took on a healthier pink white cast. (You won't even have a scar from these, you vain elven beggar,) Xenon thought, (though you seem to like to collect them.)

Xenon took out another green bottle and set it to the side. He then laid his hand on Dak's side at the shattered ribs, and felt within to determine if a lung was punctured. Years of practice at taking apart all sorts of bodies, along with only the slightest touch of magic, were all that were required to determine that Dak's lungs were fine, and that no other severe internal injuries had resulted. He decided, again, to let the potion do the job, and fed Dak the second green potion, bit by bit so as not to choke him, massaging his throat to get him to swallow it. Soon the bruises had faded and the contusion was almost completely healed as well. Doubting the efficacy of another potion of this type, and unwilling to fight the law of diminishing returns, Xenon laid a hand to Dak's side and finished the healing himself.

Xenon felt the rush of energy when Kang began to feed it to him, and he knew he would soon be ready for sleep whether he wanted or no. Now, though, the cold clear rush of Kang's energy woke him fully and freshened him immensely. Thanking Kang for aiding and not forcing him to draw from his power stones, Xenon, gave Dak a final once over, seeing that all of the abrasions were gone, and laid him down. Drawing from Kang's pure well, he Created a set of low elven silks for Dak and made them permanent, with a wide dyed leather belt, boots of the same material, and a cloak to match. He made them the deep night dark indigo he knew Dak had always wanted, and he smiled to think of the sheer look of pleasure and vanity that would cross the elf's face as soon as he woke him. Having made them on Dak's body for simplicities sake, he finally fashioned them for a perfect fit, and cast a few cantrips to regrow and groom the parts of Dak's hair that had fallen out. He also cast a small spell to clean his teeth and mouth back to that disgustingly perfect northern elf whiteness, and gazed at the results of all his efforts.

:you love this one i see Xenon my own: Kang sent, the inflection of "love" toned to mean a great depth of friendship, rather than something else. It was also overtoned with Kang’s own beaming approval, and happiness that all was, thus, right with the world.

:Kang....: Xenon started to berate him but just couldn't do so to one who had aided him so and whom he did love. Further, in a strange moment of revelation, he realized he did care deeply for this elf, and he tried with all his might, and with every ounce of darkness he had ever managed to accumulate in his soul, to force such weakness out. It didn't leave much to Xenon's now – once again – tired annoyance, and he just sat there and let it be since he couldn't manage to do anything else. Then he tweaked off the sleep spell and cast a last touch of magic to bring the bregrathigitrig elf back to wakefulness, knowing that Dak, at least, would now be well and wakeful and full of energy.

(Just my luck,) Xenon thought glumly as he watched the silly beggar’s eyes flutter before opening. (And I wonder who he has decided to be recently. Dakorillon SilverSong the minstrel perhaps – or Dakellian WhiteMane, cleric of the god and goddess of Luck and Love maybe. Or maybe... no it wouldn't be Whitemane; his hair is a yellower blond at the moment. SilverSong would have his beloved harp though,) he mused as Dak awoke fully. (Who are we today Dakorillon of Beggar's Alley?) he wondered. Then Dak spoke, as his eyes fully opened. Xenon smiled at the expected complaint.

"What a sight you are, my dear Aya, you seem to have gained a few pounds and a mage stripe since I saw you last," Dak said, staring upside down at the face above him, realizing he was being cradled in a lap. (No, no, that isn't Aya is it Dak old boy...?)

"No. No it ISN'T some lovely named Aya, oh Dak of the Day. It is your often master and benefactor, Xenon Xerxes Zohar, Archmage Adept of Twilight, once again saving your useless hide from certain death." Xenon said tiredly, but with a look on his face of wry amusement as he saw Dak stare up at him, his eyes clearing.

"Oh, Xenon, fancy meeting you here like this! I was just recently strolling through the woods, taking in a bit of the spring air... and now here you are," Dak said as he sat up from the cradling arms. (What was I doing? And why was he looking for me? Did I forget to bring something back?)

"You are less likely to take a willing stroll in a woods, especially deep into the Kaladh, than Medivh Savar is likely to request recircumcision on bended knee from a village fishwife," Xenon said. "You are undoubtedly in some sort of trouble and on the run from it... as usual. With the sweet sound of the name Aya on your lips, it surely involves a woman and some angry man as well. And no, you didn't forget to bring something back, dear Dakorillon – as if you would ever remember to do such an inimical – to your nature and training – a thing as returning a lost or misplaced item at any rate… and no, I certainly wasn't occupying my valuable time in wandering the Kaladh, pining and weeping, hoping against hope – like the many silly females, young and old, who do so for you – for you to arrive and brighten up my day with your disgustingly cheerful manner, and vain useless lackadaisical elven looks. Thank you…. no."

Dak grinned roguishly, comfortable as always in Xenon's presence, taking the slights and insults that would normally bring his sword to his hand in an instant, but which now only brought a silly grin of knowing that Xenon couldn't possibly mean it. (Besides,) he thought with great practicality, (I've seen this man turn an offending party to ash with a look.)

"Well, yes, as a matter of fact there was a woman, and an angry man, and then a woman, a child and.…"

"Story of your life as usual, dear Dak," Xenon interjected.

Dak grinned ruefully and continued. "I had to leave in a hurry; the dear Lady Emily wanted to take a perfectly good relationship and ruin it with marriage, and then she got her father involved, and well, I...."

"And Lord Byron decided that the city was better off minus one silly, useless, daughter-despoiling minstrel, and proceeded to drive you, cruelly and unmercifully, into the same horrible predicament in which you had found yourself, wholly without any fault of your own of course… when I happened upon you," Xenon interjected again, his smile getting larger and carrying the more normal predatory look. He did love to listen to Dak's stories; real or made up, they were always amusing. And, of course, Dak could weave real and imagined together into the web of a story, in such a way that the Mistress of Lies and Deception, and the dark one's Spider God, together, couldn't unweave it.

"Well, no actually, he decided to have me dragged to the altar – marriage, not sacrificial – though they are nearly the same," Dak said with heartfelt emotion. "So, I escaped along the road, but those bloodhound-like guards of his kept following me, instead of giving up after a mile or so like usual."

"And so, of course, you found yourself driven into the Kaladh," Xenon said. "The other woman is certain to appear soon now."

"Well, yes and no actually. I didn't realize I was in the Kaladh...," Dak started.

"It's the only large, black forest around, you bonehead," Xenon interjected, unable to restrain himself and beginning to laugh in truth.

"But, it’s not really black. And one forest looks pretty much like another to me. I usually use the edges of them for cover for... trysts and the like. But to continue, I was lost for three days before finding the woman, so it wasn't soon," Dak clarified, liking to keep all the facts straight. He looked concernedly at Xenon who had fallen over, seemingly taken with choking paroxysms.

Xenon was literally falling over with laughter, though tired and in much less control than usual. He struggled for breath as Dak continued this vintage Dakorillon story.

After checking Xenon's well-being and determining that he was only laughing, Dak continued on, wishing for the story to be clear, but starting to find it a bit amusing too. He did not feel as sorry for himself as he had before.

"So, I...." Dak broke off and looked at his arm. Then up at Xenon. "Did you do this? I love the colour! Thank you." He took a moment to admire his new clothing, right down to the leather boots with actual coloured fringe. He had seen boots like this in the high market – too carefully guarded for him to be able to acquire easily.

Xenon managed to gather his breath and sit back up as Dak admired the clothes. "You are welcome for the healing and the clothes, Dak. Maybe I'll take some little favour from you later when you get yourself squared away again. For now, if we are done having our fashion moment, dear Dak, continue, please."

"Oh, right, my friend, where was I? Oh, yes. So, it was pouring rain, and my tent had a hole, and I had used up my supplies days before, when I came upon a woman and a baby walking in the woods. Now what was I to think but that she was some damsel, fleeing from an abusive husband or...."

"Forest hag, shapeshifted ghoul-cat, morphological demon-form – any of these ideas might have occurred to an intelligent traveler in the Kaladh," Xenon pointed out.

Dak continued, undaunted by facts. "-or a lady in distress, whose carriage had been beset by orks and so ...."

"A lady with a chest, you mean. And sorry, my dear Dak, but orks would have eaten her and the child after heaping indignities upon their bodies," Xenon couldn't help adding.

Dak frowned at Xenon for interrupting yet again, just when he was on a roll. "So, I talked to the dear, simple soul, and found that she was lost. So, I told her that I would take her to the nearest town. She had the sweetest voice and the nicest... eyes...."

"The severely-wilderness challenged leading the blind as it were," Xenon inserted smoothly.

"So, we camped and got dry, and then traveled on the next day, and that was when the demon-goblin attacked and she lost my sword and...."

"Kahdreksh...," Xenon said very quietly. Dak didn't seem to hear him and continued without a pause.

"...then I fixed myself up; she let me bleed all day! But, the baby was cute... the baby... THE BABY! Ruvan! Oh, Luck and Love, Xenon, I've got to find them! Roarke sent me out to find my sword and I must have left them behind," Dak said, agitated.

"Roarke's dead – died years ago, Dak," Xenon reminded him.

"That's right... but what happened to Aya and Ruvan? They don't have anyone but me. They could have been eaten or attacked, and the dear heart can't fight to save her life. The baby is so sweet... I was teaching him sign language because he's deaf...."

Xenon stared off for a moment and then said, "Be calm, Dak. Kang says they're both okay, and Raven's raven is leading them back this way. Uh... Raven is a woman – well, a warrior – that I have found myself in the unfortunate position of traveling with...."

Dak took a moment to interject his own comment. "Since when is traveling with a woman unfortunate to you?"

"In this case it’s unfortunate; she's about half life-bonded to a freaking sun-faced holier-than-thou Karilanthian ranger-boy. Anyway, Kang says, her familiar is leading a woman and a small child – which match the descriptions he found in your mind – directly down the road toward us," Xenon reassured Dak.

Dak sighed with relief and felt the Black come up and snuffle his hair. He reached a hand up idly to pet him, and then absently finished his story.

"So, I must have gotten a fever. I used the green potion you gave me on her – it worked a lot better than you said, by the way...."

"The green one? I didn't give you a green potion, I gave you a blue potion!" Xenon then checked his stores. Sure enough, there was one more blue and one fewer green than he expected. He quietly began cursing in demon again.

"Oh, well, you're probably right," Dak said cheerfully, "it must have been blue, well any way, it worked quite well."

"No it was green," Xenon said,. "I'm missing a green one. They are greater healing potions. I hope, but sincerely doubt, she was worth it." He finished glumly.

"Well, everything seems to be alright now, so, with sincere thanks," Dak stood and bowed gracefully – (he has the look that says its time for me to depart) – "I take leave of your august presence to go find the lost wench and keep her out of your hair." He turned to leave and bumped into the wards. "By your leave?" He motioned towards the wards. He was starting to worry more and more about Ruvan and Aya, and what Xenon might do to them if he stayed angry about the green potion.

:dak this is kang who you know is a friend to Xenon my own and i must tell you that Xenon my own is very tired from healing you and fighting screylinh and summoning things and arguing with troll folk and elves and has had no sleep and is thus not at his best but i do know he is your friend though he will not say so and he is not thinking of hurting the child or the woman and is actually worried about them though he would never say so and i must go now for he is becoming quite wroth with me....:

Dak shook his head to cover the shudder that wracked his body with desire at the touch of another's mind with his. He swallowed and sighed loudly. He smiled wryly to change the subject. "Thanks?"

"You're welcome, Dak. And since you are burning with desire for this woman –" Xenon let him off the hook over the desire mind-contact stimulated in Dak, due to his old mentor and tormentor's influence. It warped, for some reason… probably a fit of compassion, dregfregrelthig it all – "let’s go and find her." He dismissed the wards with a wave of his hand – using much more gesture than usual, but he didn’t notice, tired as he was – and pushed himself up without a hint of fatigue or weakness, drawing on the reserves a powerful adept and pupil of the unforgiving Savar had to have buried within just to survive.

"Actually, I'm not burning with desire. I've already availed myself of her... charms… and you are welcome to woo her, should you so desire, my ....friend; she is no warrior woman to argue with you, and she is quite... warm… between the blankets, and fair of face. And you can ride the Black if you wish; you must be worn out after all the healing." Dak smiled winningly, hoping to win a smile in return.

Xenon gave Dak the smile he needed, in return, and ignored the lie underlying Dak's words and the ignoble reference to the possibility that he might be tired. He surveyed the surrounding area before approaching the roadway.

Ámp:
Jonas had almost allowed himself to believe he had nothing to worry about, until he saw that Fallenangel's expression had a taken on the cast of someone in a rage, but managing to control it, at least, on the surface. As she rode toward him, he thought again, (No, this was DEFINITELY not a good idea....)

"You know what I am." She fixed him with a icy glare. "Now why don't you tell me exactly what you are and where you got that sword." That was it, then. The game was over. Jonas knew that he would most likely die in the next few moments. Mingled despair, relief and anger bounced around in his head like rubber balls. (I might as well tell her the truth, then,) he thought. (At least I won't die with my crimes unconfessed.) With a calm expression which held just a small hint of pride, he addressed the Angel of the God.

"Bright One, I am Jonas Avaré, a Divine Knight of the Church of Laoghaire. And yes, as you probably know, I am the one who stole the Masamune twelve years ago. I stand before you as a thief, a deserter and a betrayer of Mother Church. I still hold to our God; I still serve Him, believe what you will. Look at my eyes, Bright One; you can see plainly I have Changeling blood. I also have the mage-talent, as so few of the Church Knights do. I was trained in the simple curative and defensive spells taught to all of us, but never anything more. It was just enough to awaken my need to learn more. But the Church strictly forbids magic to be used for anything but defensive purposes. I had to learn. But the Sword... it... sang to me.…"

At this point, Jonas lost the detachment he had somehow maintained throughout his speech. Slowly, as not to alarm anyone, he unsheathed the huge blade from its scabbard, its strange alloy making it extremely easy to lift. He laid it on the ground at Fallenangel's feet. He then knelt before her, arms outstretched, wrists upward. With his head bowed, he spoke in a whisper.

"By all the tenets of our religion, I must pay for my sins against Laoghaire and His Church with my life. Bright One, it is your duty to kill me."

Kathryn:
Isis had followed Etain and Sofaltis back to where the rest of the group were making camp inside a circle of standing stones. Once there, she noticed her bond-mate, still astride the horse, talking to a strangely dressed man kneeling on the ground. Walking forward, she drew close enough to hear what Fallenangel was saying.

"If you still follow Laoghaire –" the look in her eyes saying clearly that she didn't fully believe it – "I suggest that you stay with this group – at least until we find a church of Laoghaire to turn that sword over to."

(Oh won-der-ful! Just tease the animals, bond-mate,) Isis sighed. (Sometimes Angel can be so naïve.... Better make myself visible, in case this Avaré fellow decides to make trouble.)

She slunk forward until she stood just beside Fallenangel's stallion, Donas, and then dropped to her haunches, fixing the Knight with a glare.

:You find some of the most interesting strays, bond-mate,: Isis sent, :with some of the most dangerous toys.… Where did he get that sword, anyway?:

-*-

Fallenangel gazed down at Jonas as he knelt in the dust by her horse's feet. His little speech had done little to reassure her about his carrying the Sword - and she had a feeling that he hadn't been entirely truthful when he had told the group about where he had come from. She couldn't receive any more than that through her shields, and she did not want to lower them. Even at this distance, Masamune's power burned her senses, and Fallenangel had no desire to tangle with the presence inside the sword again.

The desire to rend Avaré limb from limb had faded during his speech, only to be replaced with something resembling amusement. (Oh great, he probably thinks that I'm some sort of avenging angel, come to ‘punish’ him for stealing the sword. Hate to disappoint you, Jonas Avaré, but the reason I'm here has nothing to do with you. I'd better answer him before he does something I won't like....)

"I won't take your life, Knight," – (No matter how much I feel like it) – "and I'm not going to do anything damaging to you. At least," Fallenangel added, "not anything permanent." (Let's see how he handles that.)

"If you still follow Laoghaire –" the look in her eyes saying clearly that she didn't fully believe it – "I suggest that you stay with this group – at least until we find a Church of Laoghaire to turn that sword over to." (Now, the only problem is finding one in this part of the world. And,) she thought, noticing the look in Jonas's eyes, (staying out of his reach if he decides to ‘contest’ my idea.) Fallenangel didn't plan to be where his weapon landed if he did – and she had a feeling that if she didn't get him, judging by Muranog's battle-ready stance, the troll would. (It's nice to have friends – even if I don't know why they are friends, yet.)

:You find some of the most interesting strays, bond-mate,: Isis sent, :with some of the most dangerous toys.... Where did he get that sword, anyway?:

Fallenangel started at her bond-mate's mind-voice. :I'll tell you later,: she sent back, :and you can tell me where you've been.:

She dismounted from the stallion Donas, and looked down at the Knight, waiting for his reply.

Ámp:
As Jonas waited for the blow to fall, he thought back over why he had transgressed. (We all have our own mandates to follow. I made my choices, and now I have to abide by their consequences. Whoopty-doo.) Several seconds passed, yet strangely, he was still alive. He raised his head up to the figure of Fallenangel just in time to hear her speak.

"I won't take your life, Knight, and I'm not going to do anything damaging to you. At least," Fallenangel added, "not anything permanent." Then he was to be spared. Regardless of whatever nasty things might happen to him, he would at least have his life. Elation filled him until he heard her continue.

"If you still follow Laoghaire –" the look in her eyes saying clearly that she didn't fully believe it – "I suggest that you stay with this group - at least until we find a Church of Laoghaire to turn that sword over to."

At this, a wave of depression swept over him, although he managed to keep his face calm. (No, never. I'll never give up Masamune. Never.) In all the years, he had never seen a sword of the likes of it. It seemed to have been made exactly for him, and despite its huge size, it seemed almost a part of himself when he wielded it.

And that was the true reason he couldn't allow it to be taken from him; for twelve years, the holy sword had never been more than a few feet away from him, waking or sleeping. The incredible power which was bound into it had slowly, but surely, eaten away at his mind, somehow weakening his grip on reality. While he had carried it, he had seen so many wondrous things – other worlds, other realities – and not only had he seen them, he had actually been drawn into them. That was how he had wound up in the forest in the first place, inexplicably whisked away from one place to another. It had been like a blind man seeing for the first time, and if the Sword was taken away, he did not know if he could bear the misery of losing it.

Still retaining a penitent expression, he climbed to his feet and placed the Masamune back in its scabbard. He bowed once more to Fallenangel, placing both of his hands over his heart in the salute given to the highest-ranking Church officials: the Divine Knights, who were the Patriarch's elite guard; the Bishops, who taught the white magic of the God; and the Angels, His direct servants. Quietly, he spoke.

"It shall be as you say, Bright One. I will abide by your command." With one of those strange lightenings of mood which had become commonplace after he had taken the sword, he added, "Now, if it please you, I don't particularly favour the look your familiar there is giving me in the least. Please advise her I would appreciate it if she didn't do anything hasty...." A faint grin crossed his lips as he thought about how not even a couple of minutes earlier he had been prepared to die. (Well, we'll have none of that now. This whole thing is confusing as hell, but it surely beats following some fat little merchant-toad around, trying to look menacing....) He suppressed a snicker. That would be not be the most politic thing he could do at this point – his situation was still too delicate....

Sorchafyr:
Sand listened to the arguments outside the carriage with fascination. Xenon was certainly holding his own, and she had to admire the sheer showmanship he displayed. (Is everything so black-and-white?), she thought incredulously as she heard him being disdained for using blood-magic. (If we all wore the outcome of our deeds regardless of their intent on our bodies as colours, who would be pure? Can one act or choice be the sum of a person? Pfah, abstract thoughts, you'll get in trouble one day for thinking more than you should. If you learned anything, it's not to argue with people; stay quiet, don't be noticed. Besides,) she thought wryly as the carriage slowed to a stop, (he would not thank you for defending him, even in your own thoughts. He can do such a good job of it himself.)

Sand sighed as she stepped out of the carriage, and stretched. She looked around and decided this was as good a shelter as any, as long as it had to be out of doors. She watched Xenon as he made the carriage vanish, and he and the man who she had inconveniently sat on, pulled rations into the middle of the circle. Since Sand had availed herself of the dinner in the inn as part of her performance fee, she felt no great hunger. Then the sounds of a melody floated her way and she was pulled almost physically to where the very dangerous woman was playing the flute. Sand stood apart, lost in the melody. (Birds,) she decided, (and the wind in the trees. Oh, this is someone who truly knows the heart of music.) She could not move when the melody trailed off, lost in its intricate pattern and the beauty of its heart. She shook herself and moved forward, but the woman called Blade stepped over to the flute player before Sand could take more than a step. Sand hesitated; these were not people she wanted to interrupt; she was rather afraid of them both. When Blade lost colour and stepped away from the tree, she was very sure she did not want to know what was happening. She would observe the reactions later and see how these tunes fit together.

In fact, now was a good time to observe the interactions in the group. Sand had always survived by being whatever her companions wanted or expected her to be. Well, she was doing a good job of being unnoticed at the moment, which suited her. She would have to watch the others carefully to understand how to approach them. She looked for Xenon; she already knew how to be what he wanted and she would be protected as she observed as long as she could be interesting to him. She could see him nowhere. As she moved toward the center of the group, she was brought up short by the appearance of a new figure, kneeling in front of a majestic woman. (I remember her from the inn, Fallenangel I think, but by heaven, I don't remember wings !) Sand listened as yet another tension sprang up within the group. She sighed, this group was so full of discords and minor notes there was virtually no hope of blending into harmony.

Then she caught sight of the magnificent black sheep. Her eyes widened as she focused her attention on the huge animal. She had briefly noted it during the battle when that... thing had attacked her, but somehow with a very large troll astride it had not seemed so large. Sand was drawn toward the animal, which had its attention on the group in the center of the circle. (Look at the way the little highlights in its fur... uh, wool?... shine and glimmer. It can't be as soft as it looks. Maybe if I stay near it long enough I could find its song. It would have to be unique.) Sand reached out a hand slowly to touch the sheep’s side. (Maybe if I just sink my fingers into the first layer it won't notice I'm here. The other sheep I've sung don't pay attention if you don't dig deep enough to touch their skin....)

Typo:
A tiny smile entered Erelan's eyes as she saw Fallenangel and her bondmate answer the new warrior's approach. Friend or foe, that one would be causing no trouble. She crept back away from the circle of stones as silently as she had come; for all her size, she scarcely stirred the leaves beneath her as she retreated. It was hardly fair to threaten the little human from behind anyway, with all the fully capable fighters already at the fore. Though she was more than willing to pull any dirty trick of war in a fight, he didn't seem bent on attacking the clearing full of mages, mercs and toothy nonhumans. If he did come as an enemy... well, she was usually sporting enough not to kill a fool from behind.

Sinking into the forest, she curled for a time to sleep, but the dreams were bad, and as soon as she had caught her fill of half-dozing rest, she ambled back to the road and took to the air with a leap, rising high above both clearing and forest to scout the land.

The circle of stones was not a bad campsite, for true. The forest seemed fairly natural to her, though she was certain that the taint of the evil mage would grow more and more apparent as they approached his stronghold. There was water relatively close as well, in the form of a clear stream, and she flew toward it, drawing closer to the treetops as she looked for a place large enough to bathe. Some distance downstream it opened into a small pond, and she descended abruptly in the cramped space, backwinging to set herself down gently in the water. It barely covered her to the keelbone, but it was beginning to warm under the sun, and anything to scrub off the remnants of battle was heavenly. She ducked her head under the water, the transparent inner eyelid closing to protect her eyes as she peered through the murky dimness. There were fish in the pond, though most of them were avoiding the large intruder splashing in the center of their domain. Lazily blowing bubbles, she stretched out in the deepest part of the pond and scrubbed at the clinging screylinh blood with the padded palms of her front paws until she felt put to rights; then, peering above the water for just one moment to make sure no one was watching, she flipped over on her back and wallowed and splashed in the water like a hatchling in a tidepool until every dry bank about the pool was drenched to mud.

Even the birds had flown off in search of more peaceful perches by the time she waded out of the water, shaken herself from head to tail, and spread her wings out to dry in the warmth of great mother Solas’ flames. Erelan's scales shimmered bright as faceted metal, and she shook her translucent wings once more to test their weight before she vaulted off over the water and winged toward the sky. It was good to know that meat aplenty roamed the woods. She was not hungry, and would not be for several days, but it would probably not be long before the party needed to hunt to fill the larder. She was too much a predator not to have heard the secret rustlings in the forest about her, and scented the prey species hidden beyond her sight. Perhaps she could offer her services to the group as a hunter. She certainly wasn't doing anyone much good as a historian at the moment.

She winged toward the road in time to see the red-haired mage lope off down the path and around a bend, disappearing from sight, and her eyes narrowed as she dropped down to the ground once more. That one. She did not trust him in the least, and if he was up to mischief... her eyes narrowed and she crept undetected past the clearing, along the road to where the mage had vanished. Melting into the bushes like a phantom, she slunk into the cover of the trees until she could just see the man, settling instinctively downwind as she scented animal-prey-hide-leather-horse in the morning air. She caught a glimpse of the creature as a flash of black some slight distance away. It wouldn't be detecting her with any earthly senses, she was sure.

A little hindered by the obscuring trees, she peered down to find the mage, inching forward silently until she could see more-or-less clearly through the leaves, her curiosity piqued by the scent of an unfamiliar individual and the unmistakable tang of blood.

She caught sight of a form lying on the ground and nearly betrayed herself with a cry before she schooled her body and thoughts to quiet watching and quieter thinking. There was an elf-boy on the ground, maimed so severely that every instinct born of countless generations of near-symbiosis between the elves and dragons of SeaCliffs begged her to throw herself to his aid and defend him against this predator. (...this boy – has he hurt this boy? Has he hurt this boy? Has he hurt this boy? Has....) But the mage could not possibly have been there long enough to cause this, and after a glance, she realized that the boy's wounds were already bound, albeit badly, and he smelled of wound-sickness and something even darker beyond the reek of blood and pain.

She had no more time to ponder the scene, as the mage... who looked more irate and anxious than cruel... cast about himself and his work a spell of protection. The opaque shield snapped down inches in front of her nose and left her blinking in bemusement. Had he detected her? Possible... though not likely. If nothing else, her years with Luine Tor had taught her the value of silent thinking and the means to disguise her presence to all but an active search. His cautious nature, then... recognition of his companions' prying tendencies and distrust... had prompted the shield. For a long moment, she considered trying to break through the shield, then dismissed the idea as foolish. She had no magic to damage or destroy it, and the slightest dent would probably alert the mage inside anyway. She might not trust Xenon's purposes, but neither did she feel like warring with him for a less than crystal-clear reason. (At best, we'd roast each other,) she thought glumly, pulling herself back from the shield to wait for those within the sphere to emerge.

She waited, keeping her tail tip from twitching by the thinnest control.

...and waited, ears rotating slowly back and forth.

...and waited, until she was nearly ready to scream with impatience.

And the shields vanished back to nothingness, leaving within the nonexistent circle the horse, the mage (looking a bit the worse for wear), and the elf-boy. Seeing the elf, even her jaw dropped with surprise, for he was whole, healthy-looking, and dressed in what most people would consider finery. She had seen what wounds had been visible under the shabby dressings – now, she could not even see the trace of a scar. Someone had healed the boy, and it hadn’t been the horse. Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that there was more to this mage than even she had guessed.

She watched the mage scan for trouble before he and the elf proceeded and she waited, moving down from her perch to cross their path as they entered the roadway. For a long moment she looked at the two, worn-looking mage and the handsome elvenkin, her wings angled just slightly from her back, to acknowledge one who was, at present, neither friend nor quite an enemy. There were questions that she wanted answered, but for now they would wait. She had seen enough to make her wonder, and would eventually have the rest of the story, if she had to drag it out by the tail.

Her eyes shifted away from the newly-healed elf to the mage, and she bowed her head just slightly to acknowledge him, her eyes locked with his. "I have quessstionsss for you, SSZ'enon," she said, forcing her jaws to form the awkward human language she had heard the others using. Her voice was a rasp, nothing like her normal speaking voice. Trying to voice the difficult tongue was almost painful for her ill-equipped, draconic mouth, but she was damned if she'd mindspeak this one now, still unsure of who and what he really was. "I would know what you arrre, and what yourrrr purrrpose isss herrre." Her eyes softened just slightly after that, looking over the mages weary appearance. "Now isss not the time. But ssssoon, we will hold palaverrrr, mage of the old waysss."

Raven Darkblade:
"You ought to rest," Solarin noted, approaching Raven as he wiped dirt from his hands. "There may not be another chance for a long while."

Raven chuckled dryly. "You ought to take your own advice. I suppose you didn't see anything?"

He flashed a brief, tired grin. "Nothing, except the usual mess in the firepit. Go to sleep, Raven."

She rolled her eyes, crouching by their packs to dig out and unroll her bedroll. "Tell me what to do, will you?"

"Not always," Solarin protested, smiling.

"Almost always," she retorted. "Either that or being damned enigmatic."

He laughed. "Enigmatic? Shayala, you're confusing me with Mikahl, or Tristan sa'Cieloreth."

"You still haven't told me what it was you said when we first met."

Solarin's smile changed in its nature somehow, although Raven couldn't say exactly how.

"I've already explained to you, shayala, I can't tell you. I can't influence your decision."

"How am I supposed to decide if you won't tell me what I'm supposed to be deciding?"

"I can't, Raven. Believe me, if I could, I would." He sighed, shaking his head. "Get some rest. I'll keep watch on things."

Raven sighed. "One of these days...." She settled down on her unrolled bedroll and looked up at him.

"No," Solarin told her, "I will not. Sleep, Raven. Deep-trance doesn't replace sleep, it only postpones it, and you're overdue."

She sighed, closing her eyes and muttering something uncomplimentary. Solarin said gently, "Sleep, shayala."

He sighed softly, seating himself beside her bedroll as she drifted off. (I am a fool,) he thought, and wondered idly who was to blame for the bittersweet turn his life had taken. (Perhaps the gods. Perhaps... merely myself.)

He had not lied to Raven – had never lied to her. He doubted he was capable. But what he meant and what she assumed... well, they were two different things; he knew it, and allowed it to be. He let her believe that it was some ceremonial law that kept him from explaining his actions that handful of years ago.

(Has it been only a few years? It seems like longer....) Perhaps it was Raven's human influence that made the time seem to pass differently. Only five years, it must have been, since Raven had walked into Karilanth at her Captain's side and wrenched his heart into shapes the fragile organ had never been intended to take. (Oh, shayala, beloved... Oh, kiriyel.…)

Kiriyel – the so-rare, so-precious soul-bond. Solarin had never heard, or even dreamed, of a human sharing the bond; indeed, he could not recall the bond ever occurring even between two elves who were not Karilanthian. But he had felt it from the moment he had first seen Raven's face; he had embraced it, and gladly. He had offered his life to her then, forever, in the language his people always used for such things. But, although by sharing his thoughts she had quickly become nearly fluent in the more common dialects of Karilanth, Raven did not know the archaic ceremonial tongue. She had, as far as he knew, never even heard of the kiriyel. And so the bond remained unsealed, and would until she recognized and accepted it for what it was.

What that would mean, Solarin was not sure. He, as an elf of Karilanth, could live a thousand years, but Raven might only live sixty or seventy, if that. How could he tie her to him to watch herself age and decline while he stayed young? How could he bind a woman who strove, with every ounce of her will, to be independent? How could he ask a woman who kept so many secrets to share her very soul with him, for all time?

Sometimes Solarin despised himself for his vacillation, seeing himself as only rationalizing a fear of being fully bound, when a deep enough bonding would end his life at her death. Sometimes he almost gathered up enough resolve to explain to her. But it was never quite enough. And so he simply followed her as closely as she would allow, taking comfort in rare unguarded moments – careless smiles and sudden flashes of understanding and gentleness that all but left him breathless.

He watched her rest, soothing her dreaming mind away from visions of blood and fire, and into simple oblivion again. He would have liked to touch her face, but dared not wake her, instead he gently lifted a wayward tendril of midnight hair away from her closed eyes. In sleep, her warily guarded expression eased. She looked seventeen. (Sleep, shayala, and sleep well.) He sighed, and smiled gently. (I knew when this all began that there would be a price to pay. It is too late to turn away now... I have come too far.)

For the moment, Solarin forgot Medivh Savar, the dangers of the Kaladh, the folk who shared this clearing. For a moment, he felt a sense of peace.

(Somehow we'll find our way....)

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