The Aine (IC)

[Jedi_Khan]

The Hunter

The elf could tell that she didn’t like the fact that he didn’t give his name, but he couldn’t help it; he doesn’t have a name, or at least one he can remember. The trauma of watching his home burned to the ground and his people slaughtered by the Talarines had been too much for him; it caused him to lose his memories of his personal life, of the past that identified him as an individual, not just a Mori elf.

"I am Karesh, and this is Thorne,"

So the woman’s name was Karesh and the cat’s name was Thorne. How interesting; how trusting. Then Karesh turned her attention to Thorne, giving him a quick flick on the ear. Apparently, they were conversing again. How unsettling, and somewhat rude; it was like watching someone whispering into another person’s ear when both people were supposed to be paying attention to you. The look on the elf’s face hinted at the fact that he didn’t like the idea of Karesh and Thorne having a conversation right in front of him without him hearing it, but he didn’t interrupt.

“We came from the City. We were attacked, the city has been destroyed and we are regrouping in a village not far from here to work out our next step."

Ah…the city that the Talarines now controlled. The elf had just run from a group of Talarines yesterday that had been camped outside of that city. Having lost his own home to the Talarines, he knew what it was like to have lost to them, but frankly, he didn’t give a damn about what Karesh had just gone through. Nothing he could have done about it, so why sympathize? He simply stood there as she turned about and watched the smoke rise off in the distance, most like from the city, then wiped something from her face before turning back around. The elf could only guess that it was a tear that she had wiped away. Good grief, thought the elf. Why in the world does a woman who wears black leather and walks around with a magic cat cry about losing a city? Cities can be rebuilt, crops replanted. Why cry over spilled milk, huh?

”So, what am I to call you then? I can't just call you 'elf' that’s a bit derogatory really. If you do not want to give me your real name what can I do? But surely there is something I can call you? Also the hunters should have caught some meat by now and we have some supplies left...and baths. Maybe you would come back with me to the village and you could eat and bathe before maybe discussing if you would help us?"

The elf simply looked at her, not quite believing what he was hearing; well, actually believing it, but not wanting to believe that she had actually said what she did. Karesh trusted him too much, way too much. In fact, there shouldn’t be a single reason for her to trust him at all, especially given the facts they only meet just a minute ago, that he had shoot an arrow towards her while she was nude, to let her know that he had seen her nude, and that he had just surprised the hell out of her not a moment ago. Yeah, she trusted him too damn much.

With a quick, sudden motion intended to make Karesh flinch, the elf flipped back his cloak, revealing the quiver on his back and the twin blades that accompanied it, their handles at opposite points from each other, but not crossed. Also revealed, were his travel worn clothes that had once been suitable enough to wear to a feast with high society, but now bore many cuts, some of which had blood stains around them. Instead of drawing a weapon, as one might expect from such a sudden movement, the elf simply put away the arrow that was in his hand.

“I’m not one to turn down any hospitality that is offered, unless there was a reason for me to turn it down,” said the elf, a small smile on his face. “I accept your offer for hospitality. As for a name, call me what you please, for I don’t have a name.”

The elf stood there, waiting for what he had said to sink in. He had a feeling that Karesh would find it difficult to believe that he had no name, and that she would question him about it. For now, he would wait.

 

[Kalika84]

Karesh stepped back as the Elf flicked his cloak back, showing his blades and quiver, but more interestingly, what were obviously once impeccable beautiful clothes but were now bloody, dirty and fairly shredded.

As she stepped back she brought her hand up and as her eyes flashed bright green flames curled up to lick around her fingers as she prepared to defend herself.

Seeing him simply put the arrow away with the others she clenched her fingers and extinguished the flame. She may need his help, but she would only trust a stranger so far. She wasn't stupid.

As her eyes deepened back to their normal deep green she said, "Sorry about that, but stranger man, lots of weapons, have to be careful mmm?"

Thorne adjusted himself so he was sitting infront of Karesh. Looking up at the elf he bared his impressive canines and snarled a fairly obvious warning that any further threatening of his mistress would not be ignored.

Karesh absent mindedly rubbed Thornes ears. "Well the village is back this way, follow me. As for a name I think I will wait til you either decide to share, or think of something you would like to be called. I have more important things going on right now than naming a grown man."

Turning she walked to gather her belongings. Her dirty clothes and her saddlebags. Striding back towards him she indicated the trail leading through the brush.

*Thorne tell you little cheetah friend to come along if she wishes.*

Leading the way Karesh wandered back up the trail.

 

[Qyron]

Clenching his teeth, he spent the last few drops of self control remaining to overcome the strange sickness that came over him suddenly, as his vision became blurry and a sense of confusion clouded his mind. He breathed heavily, forcing his will over his body, to retain his balance has he stood. Then, as quick as it came, the sickness was gone.

Spitting a chunk of raw liver refusing to go down his throat, Nayil walked to the river side and crouched to wash his hands again and have a hand full of water to rinse his mouth. Apart from his stomach, he was feeling well again, but the same seemed not to be happening within the forest around. There was a sense of panic in the air. Looking around, he remembered the woman; she had called out for him and the elf. Had she been the cause of what happened?

»This was not natural, whatever it was...«

Suddenly, it came to him. While taking care of the elf's wound, he had noticed a whistle of some sort hanging from his belt. Could the elf be the cause of what happened?

»We'll talk about this, little elf. Later. «

Remembering the boar's carcass, Nayil reached for his knife and finished disembowelling the animal. With swift and skilful cuts he took out the animal's heart, stomach and bladder; the intestines could be useful but he lacked the time for taking care of it, so he discarded it. Washing everything in the stream he placed the meats inside the carcass again. In a matter of minutes it was all done and he disappeared into the forest, taking his hunt on his shoulder with him. He needed to rest and think. Later, he would search for the woman; it didn't seemed likely for her to be as stealthy as the elf was. The rags of his shirt were left behind on the river side, still covered in blood.



Going back over the trail of destruction his brawl with the boar had caused, Nayil found his equipment in the clearing were he had encountered the animal earlier. His axe was stuck deep into the side of a tree and the rest of his equipment was scattered all over the ground.

»You'll be replacing every single thing you broke, my friend...«

Dropping the carcass, Nayil started collecting his few belongings into the backpack, which luckily was not very mistreated. The healing kit was intact, protected in its solid metal casing but the same couldn't be said for one of his bowls and his cup, both shattered to pieces; he was left with a large bowl and the one he normally used for preparing remedies. His spare change of clothes was still wrapped in its leather protection and firmly tied, inside the backpack, as it was the bedroll, strapped to the backpack's bottom. The sharpening stone was still in one piece too. The worst lost was his water skin and his dry travel rations: the first was completely ruined, ripped to pieces – he decided to take it along, nonetheless, as the leather might be useful - and the others were gone, probably taken by animals. But all added up, it wasn't a complete loss.

Although feeling more tired than ever, Nayil was uneasy in staying there. The elf could easily track him down. And he needed water. He left the clearing going in the opposite direction where he had left the elf and the woman, this time not using paths, but making his way carefully between the trees, trying to leave as less trail as possible behind him. He was hoping to find the same creek, but more upstream, to set camp for the night.


A couple of hours later, Nayil came to an opening in middle of the forest. A small river ran between the tree line and a steep wall of solid rock, without any hint of a patch of sand or rolling rocks for a beach, either side. It was fairly isolated, being so deep in the forest, and sheltered from wind, as the wall seemed to form a somewhat U-shaped bend. It would be a fine place to set camp for the night and rest, finally.

After gathering some wood, Nayil started a small fire and finished carving the meat he had lugged around, preparing it into small pieces that he hang from some low branches in strings over the bonfire to dry with the smoke and preserve it. The stomach and the bladder he washed carefully, filling both with water to keep it from drying up. Finally, with dusk starting to set, he opened the heart of the boar, washed it, and put it roasting over the flames. The hide he would handle later. Leaning against the tree behind him, Nayil looked at all he had managed to do and nodded for himself, felling hungry, extremely dirty and totally exhausted. Looking at the river, the man took off his boots and his pants and jumped in; the water was cold but refreshing and he washed the dust, the sweat and the dry blood of his hair and body, sitting in his bedroll to dry with the heat of the bonfire after. Putting on clean clothes, he felt a new man.

Nayil was used to being alone, as far as he could remember it. As the night set in, he enjoyed the simple meal he had prepared, thinking in all it had happened since the previous day, when he had found the elf lying on the ground. He was starting to consider it would have been better it he had just left him there, after all. And the woman…

»There are magic wielders in this land, for sure. « The giant looked at the gems in his bracers, remembering how they had glowed early. »But I sense there is something terribly wrong with this place. «

Nayil remembered seeing smoke over the forest during the day. He didn’t give it much attention then but now that he thought about, what kind of a fire would make so much smoke?

» Bah! Why bother? I’ll find about it tomorrow, hopefully. I’m better off sleeping. »

Nayil added extra wood to the fire, to keep the animals away from the meat during the night, and after washing his hands in the river got in his bedroll but sleep didn’t come. He could ear the sounds of the forest around him: the howls calling, the river singing its never changing song into the night, small animals roaming about… He got up and went sitting near the water side, legs crossed. Closing his eyes and breathing slowly, his mind opened, reaching into the dark, between the trees, under the water and into the still nocturnal air, searching, connecting.
He saw through the eyes of a wolf, as the wolf pack stalked a deer between the trees under the moonlight. He followed the river downstream and found a village lost amidst the trees. He saw the elf trough the eyes of a great cat and a woman talking to him, cradling a kitten in her arms. He felt the stench of orcs and saw a strange man with horns sprouting from his head, drinking. And he sensed his presence, who or whatever he was.

Leaving the village behind, he searched further, as far as the last tree stood, until a strange presence made him fall back into him. It was as if a shadow moved slowly through the forest, making every thing restless at its passage. Not evil yet not good. And strangely old, he could sense. The meditation had served its purpose. Getting into his bed roll, the giant fell asleep quickly, his hand over the handle of his knife, and the axe in the reach of his arms.

 

[Wolfsister]

The old crone walked on, her bare feet so thick with calluses that they didn't mind the underbrush at all. The roots of trees sought to trip her, but the wizened old woman simply smiled and stepped over them. Branches caught at her grizzly silver-grey hair but she simply stopped for a few moments each time, humming to herself a tuneless tune while she untangled her tresses with gnarled fingers. The sky threatened to dump water onto her, clouds billowing overhead as chills seeped into her creaking bones and still she walked, smiling and humming to herself all the while.

Soon enough, she came to a river. A small one at that, little more than a creek really and for want of anything better to do, the crone turned and followed the river along its twisting turns. The forest was thick here and though she kept on, Nature seemed to still have it in for the old cow.

Birds shrieked at the sight of her, squirrels darted up into their hiding places high in the trees. Owls wakened in the light and hooted in alarm, flapping their tawny wings in distress as she passed them by. Commotion followed by silence treaded the river edge with her. Her tuneless humming a low undercurrent as she scrambled over the damp earth, next to the steadily flowing water.

The crone stopped for a rest, pausing along side the running water to dash some of the fresh liquid onto her weather beatened face. She glanced at the reflection on the glassy surface and cackled to herself in a low tone, continuing her humming as she squatted beside the shore, running her bony fingers through her ragged tresses, as if trying to bring some semblance of straightness to her tangled hair.

The reflection stared back, humming along with her. Her face pale, lined and creased in places that ought to have been left alone. Her nose was long and almost bulbous, the tip ending like a large flattened round stone. Her lips were cracked and parched and the mouth was far too wide for the sallow face it graced. Crinkles moved aside and allowed small, shrewed black eyes to fully study their forlorn expressions on the river's surface.

Her humming stopped momentarily as she shifted to an upright position, accompanied with intermittent bursts of grunts and moans as her bones creaked in protest to the movement. Dusting her gnarled fingers on her grey traveler's cloak, the old woman began moving on again. Her low humming tone the only accompaniment.

Soon, she moved deeper into the forest once more, leaving the water's edge for the moment. Her head swung from side to side, her shrewd eyes that showed an unnerving lack of age sweeping along the horizon. When she found what she wanted, she reached up and plucked the ripe fruit from the tree not a few feet above her. Her arms under the cloak were revealed to be small and wiry, as wrinkled as her face.

Taking two of the juicy fruits from the tree, she placed one in a small pouch beneath her cloak and bit into the other. Sticky juice immediately dribbled from her chin as it was revealed she had little to no teeth. Her gums were extraordinarily strong, however and it was proven again as she took yet another bite and made her way back to the river.

On and on the crone walked -- her fruit gone in a few juicy bites as the forest swallowed her wrinkled form, the gurgling of the stream beside her happy against the foreboding gloom of the forest that lined its dry borders. Once eaten her fill, she continued to walk, continued to hum. The forest around her and its inhabitants kept up their discord with her presence. She frowned as a bird flew from its nearby nest, shrieking into the air with its shrill cry. She tsked, but kept on, humming her tuneless -- and somehow, ageless -- song.

A ferret darted from the tree line and immediately ran for the river, its odd grunting sounds dragged from its snarling lips as it took one look at her, hackles raised. Then it plunged into the river, its open mouth still growling at her even as it took on water, filling its lung with the liquid. She stopped and stared, a bemused glint in her ageless eyes and stopped her humming as the ferret's gurgling sounds were soon cut off, its own eyes fading as it drowned to death, a look of defiant fear frozen on its face.

The crone blinked, cackled and then moved on. Far be it for her to interfere with Nature, although She seemed to be willing enough to interfere with her. Wolves howled, nay, whined in the distance. A bear came lumbering from the tree line, charged her with a growl and then stopped short, racing back to the safety of the trees with very unbearlike whimpers.

The crone lifted her fingers to her lips, a frown still on her face as she scratched a balding spot on her head. "This will not do," she whispered, her voice as of dry leaves racing over the ground. Lifting her hand clear of her whithered lips, she held a palm up and out, waving impatiently.

A cry rose up then, from birds, from bees, from ferrets and bears and wolves and foxes and squirrels and snakes and even the forest itself moaned in protest to her presence.

"Enough!" the crone suddenly cried, her voice hoarse but strong as the sound of it boomed through the forest surrounding her and the sounds instantly ceased. In the face of a minute, the roaring of the world around her had vanished and normalcy was set back in its place.

An errant squirrel crossed her path, attempting to scurry to the river beyond her and she stood in its way, crossing her arms, a frown deep set on her face. The squirrel paused and squeaked, its features set in fear. The crone tapped her bare foot, lifting an aged and wrinkled brow.

Fear turned to embarrassment and the squirrel squeaked again, turned, and fled back into the trees.

"That's better," the crone whispered, more to herself than anything. Walking to a tree, she absently patted its trunk, "Good."

It was approaching dusk and the crone's bones creaked even more with the cooling of the air. Without her humming, she turned and followed the path only she could see again, using the stream by her side to guide her. Night settled in quickly and she was pleased to hear the normal nightly noises of the forest. It simply did not do to have such a racket following her around.

It was long into the night when she spotted warmth in the forest. She blinked and sighed with gusto, rubbing her hands together as her feet set her towards the banked fire in a clearing beyond the trees. Though regretting leaving the stream behind, she saw that it wound its way close to the clearing anyway, so she would rejoin it soon. A night in this body was something she had to get used to, but a warm fire and friendly company would not be amiss either.

At least she hoped it was friendly. The crone was silent for a time as she traveled, her feet barely making sound. Absently she untangled her silver hair from an errant branch once again and stepped into the circle of firelight. A giant slept there, hands on weapons, but slept soundly enough. She spied the beef hanging from strings atop the fire and hunger drove her forwards. At least, it would appear that way.

Her sharp eyes surveyed the rough camp and she nodded, more to herself than anything. Then her eyes hooded and the ageless quality was gone in an instant, the milky film of age covering her sharp sight as she took a nearby stick and promptly used it to poke the sleeping giant.

"Wake up, young man. I'm hungry!" Her words would be heard in every language and he would understand, no matter what she spoke and he would simply think it reasonable that she could so easily converse with him.

Having no fear of the weapons by his side, she proceeded to poke him again, her cackling voice dry and high, "Wake up, I said! I'm hungry!"

 

[Qyron]

Nayil Thandryl

Nayil woke with a voice calling and opened his eyes, sitting in his bedroll slowly, words still reaching his ears but not minding them until the twig poking at his arm became too much annoying to be ignored. He turned his head over his shoulder, just to see a shrivel old woman ranting about to him, demanding food. The man could see her, the man could listen and even understand her words but it wasn't Nayil who was paying attention to the woman's babbles. Until his eyes blinked and Nayil was looking at a very angry woman.

- What do you want, old woman? And what are you doing in these parts at this time of the night? Besides bothering people trying to rest, of course.

The old woman was no more than a midget when Nayil stood to get his pants that he had left hanging on a tree branch. Wrinkled, extremely ugly - if he could say so - covered in dust, leaves stuck to the hair, which didn't even covered the head entirely... There was an interesting figure. A thought of how she found her way in the forest also crossed his mind but he simply put it away for later. Stretching and yawning loudly, Nayil knew he hadn't slept a third of what he wanted but he was feeling much better now. Even hungry.

Nayil had been speaking in the most common trade language he knew. Crouching by the water side, he scooped a hand full of water into his mouth and spat it back into the river. Then he went to the bonfire and started throwing more wood into it, making it burn brighter and hotter. Not that he was cold, but he wasn't in the mood for putting a shirt on just right now.
Looking at how the fire reflected on the metal of his bracers for a moment, Nayil let out another yawn.

»I really need some more sleep... But somehow I don't think that will be happening tonight.«

Looking back to the woman, that was inquisitively looking him back, he shrugged his shoulders.

- Now that I'm awake, what can I do for you? Besides throwing you into the river for waking me up, as you deserved.

 

[Wolfsister]

- What do you want, old woman? And what are you doing in these parts at this time of the night? Besides bothering people trying to rest, of course.

The crone, of course, proceeded to give him the 'I know what's best' look old people are so prone to give, and poked him with the stick again. "I said I'm hungry. I'm lost, cold and hungry!" she complained, her old voice becoming shrill with displeasure and the feeling that she was the only one who had the right to complain.

She watched him get up, not even startled at his disrobed state, for wasn't she old enough to have supposed to have seen everything? Instead, she just swung around and watched him with her milky eyes, continuing to babble on complaints about the weather, about the cold, about how her sons would never be as rude as Nayil was being, about how she deserved better, how she had worked hard to get this far into life, about the dirty state of her feet and her clothes and what she had had to go through while getting lost in the forest.... on and on it went until the fire was once again blazing and he was seated down.

- Now that I'm awake, what can I do for you? Besides throwing you into the river for waking me up, as you deserved.

She once again gave him that dissaproving look that old people do so well. Crossing her arms she also sat down - not without a lot of complaint and groans about her 'old' bones - and gave him a gentle rap with her stick. "I told you, I'm hungry and you look to have food. Don't forget, young man, I am older, wiser and smarter. I've gone through more than you ought to in this life and it'd please me well to have some food in my stomach." She paused and gave him a significant look, "And don't go thinking you can fool me. I've raised seven children and twenty eight grandchildren in my time, not to mention my fair share of husbands. Mind you, I want good food."

With that little speech, she sat back and stared at him, clearly expecting him to tend to her, the air of Grand Matriarch hard to miss.

 

[Qyron]

Nayil sat, listening to the old crone moaning about her life and smiled to himself.

“In the land I come from, respect is something to be earned not expected, old woman.” Nayil kept throwing small twigs and sticks into the fire, not even looking at the woman. “And for someone claiming to be so wise, you are just plain rude.”

The man turned his head slowly towards the old bat; the light in his eyes started to dim and became colder and colder, until all signs of human-like youth were gone from his glare, in a away no creature could miss.

“Do not judge on what you see, old woman, as appearances can be deceiving; respect, if you want to be respected.” Nayil's voice became paused and deep, almost haunting. “I don't care about your complaints . I don't care about your children, you're grandchildren nor how many husbands you've bed and buried. You are nothing more to me than an rude old woman.”

The giant stood slowly and pulled a piece of meat from one of the strings hanging above the bonfire; placing it next to the old woman, he went to sit against the oak he had placed his frugal encampment beneath and looked straight into the woman's eyes, across the blazing fire.

“If its cold and hunger that afflict you, eat and get warm. But I demand respect for what I offer. If this does not meet your content, eat and be gone.”

 

[Wolfsister]

The hag stopped talking the instant the giant spoke. She looked at him, a frown gracing her less than pretty features as she listened to his little speech about the earning of respect. She crossed her arms, refusing to look at the meat he had placed beside her. Her eyes narrowed and when he was once again seated across from her, she opened her mouth as if to give him yet another tirade.

But she stopped before she began, tilting her head to the side, her milky eyes wide open with calculation. Then she sighed, her voice lost its shrillness and was once again the sound of dry leaves rustling along the bare ground.

"In this part of the world, rudeness gets you everywhere, young man. But I suppose this isn't so with you?" she cocked her head the other way and nodded more to herself than to him, "What would you trade for your meat, then?" she was much kinder now, her voice lower and more thoughtful, her words measured and careful. It was clear she had been in a situation like this before, and she was learning from it.

"I only have this, though," from inside her cloak, she withdrew a small iron idol. It was well polished -- an extrememly jovial fat man holding what could only be described as an ear of corn -- and shone in the firelight. It was, for those who knew, more valuable than a piece of meat and represented the God of Wealth. Though why it was made of iron and holding an ear of corn nobody could say.

"Protection to Kalabalad, with food and shelter thrown in, for this." She waved the Idol around casually. Her eyes studied him from beneath a curtain of silver strung hair.

 

[Qyron]

"There seems to be more than the eye meets on you too, old woman." Nayil noticed the change in the hag manners and smiled for himself. "First you demanded for food; now you want to pay for a mercenary. An interesting turn."

The small idol in the woman's hand meant nothing to him. But her voice and the way she spoke was like a cat playing with a mouse.

"Keep your riches, woman. They are vain to me." Closing his eyes, Nayil leaned against the bark of the tree. "And you seem to know more about these parts than I do. You speak of Kalabad; what is it? And where? I don't even know the name of the land in which I'm in, right now."

The giant stood again and pulled a piece of meat for himself. Chewing on it, he looked at he woman, assessing the situation, the idol still in her hand shinning with the light of the fire.

"What do you truly want, old woman?"

 

[Wolfsister]

The crone sighed, placed the Idol back into the folds of her voluminous cloak and shook her head. Her bony fingers curled around the piece of meat, finally, and she raised it to dry lips, chewing thoughtfully. She would have to find some other way for him to possess what she wanted him to.

"Kalabad is the capitol of the Kingdom of Aine. I simply wish to see the city," se shrugged, clutching the cloak tighter around her as if she were cold again. "My home is far away and I can't possibly go back. I've been here a few times and have relatives here."

She cocked her head to the side, studying him. "An old woman is frail, no matter her worldly experiences, young man. For example, she cannot stop thieves from taking all she did not have on her person, or those same thieves from beating her almost to death." She sighed, shifting on the ground a little.

"I merely wish protection. Do not ask why I ask you... I have nothing else but this Idol to give -- either you will rob me of it and leave me out to die, or you will help me. Or you will simply walk away --" she shrugged, her bones creaking in the night.

"For all the wisdome of age, I am still just an old woman who lost her possessions and her way,"

 

[Qyron]

Nayil had sat on the ground, listening to the woman wander in her speech.

“I am no thief, old woman. And I am no murderer either.”

The giant's look was lost in the flames, as if he was seeing something far away; then, looking at the woman again, Nayil paused for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. He sensed the woman was much more than the eye met, in a place so deep inside him there was no words to describe the feeling.

“I know you are more than what you say you are, woman. If you are a woman.” His voice was cold. “I don't care.”

Standing, the giant pulled a dead branch from the oak, thick as an man's harm, and cast it into the fire, sending sparks into the air. Checking the meat drying over the over the flames again, he went to his backpack and took out a large piece of black cloth from within it and placed it next to the hag. Turning his back to the old crone, the giant went to lye on his bedroll; looking trough the oak's tree-top, he saw the full moon shining above.

“It used to be my mantle; its useless for me now but I think will make a decent blanket for you, old woman.” The man's voice was warm again. “I will leave this place with the break of the day; if you wish to repay me for the food, you can lead me to the nearest village tomorrow.”

Turning to his side, with his back to the woman, the giant settled for the rest of the night, but not without checking for his blades again before closing his eyes.

“My name is Nayil.” Putting his left arm under his head, a brief thought about a soft bed darted through the man's mind. “Have a good night of sleep.”

 

[Wolfsister]

“I know you are more than what you say you are, woman. If you are a woman.” His voice was cold. “I don't care.”

To that, the crone said nothing, merely cackling low in that rustley laugh of hers with a distinct twinkle in her milky grey eyes. She did not deny or confirm, merely let him believe what he wanted to.

Collecting the mantle in her bony fingers she nodded thoughtfully, her gums chewing the slightly toughened meat still. Around the food, she softly agreed to his terms, her voice low and distant as she too were in a far away place.

Leaning down closer to the fire, she looked over and checked that 'Nayil' was asleep before poking a finger in the flames. Nodding to herself, she set about setting the mantle around her shoulders and laid down. Whispering quietly, she ensured that no-one and nothing would disturb their rest tonight. The forest's animals to wary to come any closer anyhow.

The next morning would bring a cold sun with mist creeping through the dampened forest.

 

[Qyron]

Nayil woke up to an unusual cold morning; a damp mist covered the forest ground and the man felt strangely aware of the surroundings, as not even a bird was heard.
Looking around, the giant saw the old woman lying on her side, the black rags wrapped around her frail body, next to the coals of the bonfire.

Getting out of his bedroll, Nayil went to the stream to wash his face and found the water to be extremely cold, too cold for the time of the year; there was something disturbing in the forest that morning.

»Something is wrong here.« Nayil picked a hand full of water to rinse his mouth. »It's too quiet.”

Nayil new it was past sunrise; he could feel it but the fog was to thick to make a more accurate guess. Spitting the water in his mouth back into the river, the man stood.
Keeping an eye on the old woman apparently still sleeping, the man started picking dead branches from the nearby trees to start the fire again. The forest was hauntingly quiet and was starting to get on his nerves.

»It took me half a day to get here from that creek, yesterday. With that hag, I guess it will take me twice the time.«

Dropping an armful of wood next to the fire Nayil crouched, in order to restart it. The coals were still hot and it didn't took to long for the newly added wood to be burning.

-- Wake up, grandmother. - Nayil was inspecting the meat he had left to dry for the night over the flames. - Time to go.

The boar's skin, that he had left near the fire also, was almost dry; it would make a fine water skin after being properly tanned, cut and seamed – he had decided to discard the stomach for a water skin, as it was too small for his needs. He allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction.

Grabbing his knife from under his bedroll, the giant strapped it to his left leg with the swiftness that came from many years of practice, buckling it around the thigh on hand reach, starting to pack the bedroll after.

-- Wake up, grandmother. I want to get moving soon.

Nayil spoke as he worked, checking the contents of his backpack. Using a piece of leather from his old water skin he packed the dry meat, leaving only two pieces out, securely tied with a piece of string. In just a couple of minutes, everything was carefully packed in his backpack. Holding a piece of dry meat between his teeth has he put on the harness of his axe, to allow him to carry the weapon concealed under the backpack, the man shouted:

-- Grandmother! Wake up!

 

[Wolfsister]

-- Grandmother! Wake up!

The crone groaned and finally stirred, "I heard you the first time, young man..." she moaned and rolled to a pained sitting position. She rubbed her hip painfully and moaned again. "Do we have breakfast then?" she croaked, her hopeful smile toothless.

She lumbered up and groaned her way to the river - the cold creeping into her bones with every movement. She bent down and sifted some water into a little metal cup she had produced from beneath her weathering cloak.

Swishing her mouth out with the frigid liquid, she pursed her lips and spat with vehemence. "Too cold..." she muttered, wondering just what was going on. She too had felt the strangness of the forest around them and for once, it was not her doing.

She tottered her way back, rubbing her gnarly hands together for what little warmth she could get. Hopefully there was some food waiting for her. If there was, she would accept it silently and work away at it with her hardened gums.

"The closest village, I think...." she shook her head and began whispering to herself for a little while, apparently trying to work something out. "I wandered around for a while... the nearest village is probably about two to three days from here...." she shook her head. "I think..." she frowned, "Hard to be sure unless I see a landmark... but this river is all I can recognise."

She shrugged apologetically -- still conveniently forgetting to mention her name.

 

[Qyron]

- No time for a proper meal, right now. - Nayil had just finished putting on his axe harness and had just placed the weapon on it. - I don't like the way the forest is. - His voice lowered and slowed down. - It's too much quiet. And this fog seems unnatural to me, even with that river near.

Putting his backpack on his back, Nayil checked everything in his mind.

- Grab that piece of dry meat. As soon as we leave this mist, we'll set up camp again and I'll make us a warm cup of tea.

The giant motioned his head around until he noticed a young oak growing near the water line, perfectly straight. Wrapping his huge hand around the tree, the man ripped it off the ground with a grunt.

- This will make a good walking staff.

Grabbing his knife, he cleaned the branches and roots away, leaving an almost six foot tall staff.

- Let's go, "grandmother". - The giant let out a small chuckle. - I'm starting to get nervous here.

 

[Wolfsister]

The crone accepted the 'walking stick', grabbing her gnarly fingers around it. She found that when she had it, she could actually straighten a little bit from the pepetual stoop she had had since hitting a certain age. "Thank you young man," she said softly.

Then she was off walking, generally heading along the line of the little fast flowing creek. The mist rolled in around them, but their line of sight was always at least ten meters ahead, so althouth it was thick, they could still move around comfortably in it.

As the morning drew on, Nayil would find that the crone moved almost painfully slowly. Although her feet were bare, and she didn't complain, she still only managed to shuffle along the path at a rather slow pace. She kept silent most of the time and absently drew out the little idol, stroking her gnarled fingers up and down the figure. It seemed something of import to her as she crooned low in her throat.

The chill of the morning eventually wore of, though the memories of it remained. The further along the river they went, the closer they came to the normalcy of the forest once again and the mist gradually thinned out.

It was around noonish when the crone suddenly stopped and announced that she was lost.

 

[Qyron]

Nayil had been paying attention to the path the woman had been following the entire morning; they hadn't advanced that much but what could he expect? And when she announced she was lost, he simply shrugged his shoulders.

-- Well, for the time being, it's all the same. -- Looking up, the giant figured it would be around mid day. -- Let's stop to have something to heat.

With skilful gestures the man rapidly set up a small camp, with a fire burning in a low hole in the ground he had dug with his bare hand in a pair of movements, using a few dry twigs. Using some of the stones he always carried around, the man boiled water in one of his bowls, adding herbs to hit to make a strong beverage.

-- Medicinal tea. I assume you feel some discomfort in your joints; this will ease them.

Serving some of the tea on the other bowl he had for himself, Nayil sat against a nearby tree drinking the tea.

 

[Wolfsister]

The crone gratefully accepted the cup, cradling its heat in-between her cold palms. She began to hum, low and long, that tuneless, ageless tune she had been humming when she had walked the day before. The effects were less dramatic, but the last vestiges of the mist rapidly dissappeared.

Birds were soon chirping, the noonday sun shining brightly through the sparse canopy of leaves. Rustles and the happy gurgling of the stream suddenly seemed louder and more cheery than before and soon enough the crone stopped singing.

Nodding, it seemed, to herself, she took a generous sip of the herbal Nayil had brewed. Nodding again, in satisfaction this time, as she smacked her gums together enthusiastically, she turned to Nayil, her low, dry voice whispering along the ground.

"So, young man, while we wait for me to gather my wits, why don't you talk about yourself? Listening isn't as hard as talking for me, these days..." she smiled, no teeth showing at all.

 

[Jedi_Khan]

The Hunter

The elf watched Karesh’s reaction to his sudden move, and he was rather unhappy with it in general. Specifically, she reacted as she should have, with a defensive response, but the elf didn’t like the fact that the response involved flames dancing around her fingers. The blatant display of magic simply served to confirm the fact that Karesh was born to the common elves, despite her half-blood nature, for Mori elves did not possess any magic, nor did they like it, except for the occasional entertainment.

"Sorry about that, but strange man, lots of weapons, have to be careful mmm?"

The elf didn’t respond to Karesh, mainly because he didn’t have anything to say in response. Besides, if she didn’t think that he had made the sudden move for a reason, so be it. As for the cat growling an obvious warning, the elf simply looked at the animal and raised an eyebrow for a moment, before completely ignoring the feline again.

"Well the village is back this way, follow me. As for a name I think I will wait till you either decide to share, or think of something you would like to be called. I have more important things going on right now than naming a grown man."

Again, the elf didn’t respond, for the same reason as before; he had nothing to say. He simply pulled his cloak around him, covering his head with the hood, and fell into step a few paces behind Karesh.

 

[Kalika84]

Striding along the dirt track Karesh was very alert to the strange elf following behind her. he was very....VERY strange. He clearly had a distaste for magick and magick users alike. Well too bad for him. She was not ashamed of her power and had worked hard to become as good as she was.

Thorne kept pace with her. *I dont like him. And I certainly dont trust him Karesh. Maybe I should just eat him.* His growl echoed around her mind as the giant cat slanted a calculating look over his shoulder at the elf and flicked his tail in a distinctly "get bent" gesture.

*Thorne, I know you dont like him. Im not entirely at ease with him around either, But he is good. And we need all the help we can get.*

As they tramped through the wood and brush they could see the village appearing in front of them. MEat was already roasting over open fires and the men, women and children that had escaped were looking in better spirits. Though....they looked a bit odd. And there were strange beings patrolling around the village square. What the hell. Without a backward glance at no name she took off for the Queen's tent. "Hurry up if your coming!" She shouted over her shoulder as she took off, Thorne easily keeping pace at her side.

She hoped the elf would come. Then she could introduce him to the Queen. That and he may come in handy if the new visitors weren't friendly.

 

[satindesire]

Risa had tailed them for days, stopping when they stopped, resting when they rested. All this, without letting her presence immediatly obvious. Perhaps out of the corner of their eye they would witness the flash of a ringed bushy tail or the flicker of silver in the densest thicket of a bush, but these sorts of things were easily dismissed as harmless, or flights of fancy. The woods were full of creatures, after all.

She hunted minimally, wont to leave the hodgepodge pack behind. Although gnawing hunger chewed angrily at her guts, she ate and drank little, absorbing their speech and becoming familiar with the elvish tongue again.

She had scouted the village ahead some hours before they arrived, and finding it lacking in companion animals she was wary of entering alone. Cheetahs were not pack animals, but all her hunting skill and great speed would be nothing against a village full of angry and witchcraft-seeking twoleggers.

The large male cat in the witch's company made it clear that she had no qualms about companion animals, but the crone and the elf were difficult for her to fathom...and that made her nervous.

She tailed them, several hundred feet back, creeping through the brush with her ears perked forward, straining to catch every word.

 

[Qyron]

The crone gratefully accepted the cup, cradling its heat in-between her cold palms. She began to hum, low and long, that tuneless, ageless tune she had been humming when she had walked the day before. The effects were less dramatic, but the last vestiges of the mist rapidly disappeared.

Birds were soon chirping, the noonday sun shining brightly through the sparse canopy of leaves. Rustles and the happy gurgling of the stream suddenly seemed louder and more cheery than before and soon enough the crone stopped singing.

Nodding, it seemed, to herself, she took a generous sip of the herbal Nayil had brewed. Nodding again, in satisfaction this time, as she smacked her gums together enthusiastically, she turned to Nayil, her low, dry voice whispering along the ground.

"So, young man, while we wait for me to gather my wits, why don't you talk about yourself? Listening isn't as hard as talking for me, these days..." she smiled, no teeth showing at all.

Nayil had noticed the rapid change of the forest around him and was not happy. Such kind of sudden changes were not natural; his mood was turning grim again and the lightness of the old woman was starting to become enervating.

«Humans.»

- As you can easily notice, grandmother, I'm an athalan. There's not much to tell besides that about me; my race is well known throughout the world for what it is.

The man pours himself another cup of the beverage and leans against the tree behind him, feeling the wrinkled bark through the cloth of the shirt, his eyes closed.

The slow wind that blows in the forest makes the trees rustle. Birds sing and its easy to hear the small animals of the forest roaming around. All is too perfectly calm for Nayil's liking; the giant feels strangely alert, without being still able to pinpoint whatever is making him feel like that.

Putting down his now empty bowl, the giant runs his hands over his bracelets, feeling the engravings and the black stones cast into the solid steel, taking conscience of the wide and heavy steel necklace around his neck and the stone in it. The objects seem to be more part of him than even the clothes he wears.

- And how about you, grandmother? - The man sips his tea, opening an eye to glare over the old woman, calmly sit in front of him, looking at him. - Yes, what about you? Except for that lovely tale you told me when you woke up me last night, of course. I'm still trying to decide if I throw you into the river or not... - Taking a long drink off the cup, the giant's eyes wander around the nearby trees. - After all, you did get us lost.