The Sign of the Broken Gryphon

[Inkfinger]

The ink in his inkwell had ice in it. Cael Inkfinger stared at the well where it balanced on the edge of his notebook. He should take that as a sign to leave, probably.

In years previous, weather like this had driven him indoors, or further south – closer to the big cities with their Aeromancers keeping things more clement. Now, he simply pulled his silk robe tighter around his shoulders, rubbing at his fingertips and pointedly ignoring the snowflakes melting around the ice crystals.

He sat in the doorway of a deserted inn in an equally-deserted village in a small fiefdom whose name he couldn’t quite be bothered to remember. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing there in the first place. That seemed to be his lot in life the past few years – to drift from disaster to disaster, and to be dragged in to help.

He’d given up fighting it, really, instead just going wherever the wind blew...

And the wind was blowing, streaking the still-damp ink on his parchment in smears. He cursed under his breath when a new gust obliterated an entire line of the letter he was writing, reducing it to a line of black across the page. The following pen-stroke tore through the paper. Oh, bloody…

The following string of curses could have turned any listener’s ears blue – if there had been listeners, that is, and if the temperature hadn’t done that already. He let the notebook fall shut with a snap, wiping the pen off on the hem of his already-stained trousers and sliding it into its pocket in his sleeve.

No use even trying to write here anymore.

It took him a few tries, aided by the handle of the inn’s door, to climb to his feet. His leg was stiff and sore from the temperature, scarred musculature not adapting as well to the change in climate as the rest of him did. It was, simply, yet another sign of his life as something other than a scribe. There had been far better results from his past decisions, but the leg’s scarring was, by far, the most visible.

Cael stood on the stoop for a moment, willing some of the feeling back into his toes, watching the snow drift across the broad, smooth street. The fine layer of white was untouched. No one had traveled the thoroughfare since his arrival – his tracks were already gone from the snow that had begun earlier that morning, and it was likely that no one unexpected would come this way until the snow stopped.

And, in Salvar, who knew how long that would truly be? He let out a silent sigh, tucked his notebook to his side, and opened the inn door.

The inn – the Broken Gryphon, if the sign above the door was to be taken seriously – had once been a popular place, judging by the size of its dining rooms, the thick tapestries on the walls, and the intricate carvings on the bar. The winter had forced it into disuse - a fine layer of dust coated nearly every surface, his leather boots leaving tracks of melting snow behind him, transmuting the gray grit into mud. He ignored the slush, stripping his coat off and throwing it over the bar, setting his notebook down more sedately before he made his limping way to the table next to the fireplace.

He’d cleared the candlesticks and silken cloth off when he’d arrived and found the town utterly deserted - they wouldn't be needed when the only patrons weren't supposed to be there in the first place. In retrospect, he should have taken the odd looks from the few people he had passed on the road here as warnings of the desolation - but how was he to know the whole village had just up and left?

Not that I blamed them, he thought, setting his inkwell on the fireplace mantel. I wouldn't want to wait out winter here if I had a choice.

The village’s location wasn’t the best for most people: a full day's walk from the nearest road (also, helpfully, from the nearest reliable source of firewood), three days longer than that to the next village, and a full week from Knife's Edge. He had been surprised the village even existed when Ludvik had shown it to him, pointing it out on a well-worn map.

It had to have something to do with the nearby river – a tributary from the Western Sea to the lake of Ashkalov, if the map was to be trusted – that was frozen solid now. Perhaps it was merely a summer village, making profits off of the fishing, or something in the clay, or…anything, really; anything that would be affected by the harsh cold.

Not that it mattered. All that truly mattered right now was that it was here, and that it was deserted, and would, therefore, serve his - serve their - purposes. He collapsed into the chair nearest the fire, running a mottled hand through his hair to dislodge the snow caught there, turning his hair dark gold as it melted.

His current project rested upon that table, a parchment stretched tight on the smooth surface, tacked to the wood. It already had a few rows of carefully lettered script, the intricate flowing letters and flowery speech generally found in legal documents. The light was wrong now - the windows letting in only an odd, bluish gloom, beginning to show the darkness outside as the sun set behind the clouds – to finish the calligraphy tonight.

That paper could, in all likelihood, get him killed if the wrong person saw him writing it. But that was all well and good, wasn’t it? It wasn’t as if anyone would catch him making it here. He had a second parchment sticking out of the top flap of his pack, already neatly transformed into a document of the same importance, but for the Church.

He left both parchments be for now, reaching out to take up the half-folded paper crane perched on the edge of the table. It was carefully crafted from a previous attempt at one of the documents, and it only took him a few small folds and creases to complete. He set it down to retrieve his pen, groaning when he realized he’d left his notebook on the bar.

He limped back across the room and retrieved the book, snagging the arm of a chair and dragging it back with him as he did. The fire was going to die down soon enough, and he didn’t want to have to get up again for something as trivial as firewood. He’d pay for it - eventually, of course - but right now he needed it more than the inn’s owner.

He took his pen back out of its pocket, reaching out to dip it in the now-pure-liquid inkwell, and quickly sketched the appropriate double-infinity symbol on one of the crane’s wings. The sign flashed so quickly that he would have missed it if he had blinked. All the writing on the crane faded as if it was being soaked into the paper, and then the paper moved. Shifted, small wings flapping once. A tiny beak opened, and –

“Are you sure this is wise?” The words floated through the air between the halves of the beak, noiselessly. Cael chuffed low in his throat, cleaning the pen off again as an excuse not to look at the familiar.

“Is that your new motto or something?”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t like it. For the record and all.”

It felt nice to speak Salvic again, the words flowing easily and smoothly from his mouth, none of the accent that still plagued his tradespeak.

It still ‘spoke’ in that language, giving him a look that felt like a disapproving stare, despite its lack of eyes. “Didn’t ask if you liked it.”

Cael rolled his eyes, setting the pen down on the table and moving the inkwell onto the table’s far corner. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He held his hand out. The crane hopped onto his fingertips without further comment, balancing easily as he stood. “Hopefully,” Cael continued, “We’ll only be here a few days.”

Hopefully.

And hopefully, those coming to rescue him from the monotony of the past two days would be people who his brother had passed the paper on to – trustworthy people - and not members of the Church or monarchy looking to remove his head from his shoulders for such insurrection.

He’d spent enough time in Knife’s Edge during his apprenticeship to know that – if they disapproved, and he somehow got the feeling that they would – he’d be lucky if it was that quick.

The paper – the whole famine-and-hunger fighting plan – had seemed such a good idea when it was…well, just that. An idea. Now that the gears were all in motion, he couldn’t help but worry. What if no one came? What if, as he feared all the more, the wrong people came? Had he written the inn name right? The name of the village, the fiefdom, for that matter? There so many things to go wrong…

And he was slowly beginning to wish they’d picked a village closer to civilization.

Closed to those from here. Feel free to poke me about any clarifications/edits you feel need made.

[Aiko]

Snow, so much snow. It was cold, so very cold. Sure she was a spirit, but even spirits feel cold, and pain, and suffering, and can even die like normal people, though indeed a spirit's death has slightly different connotations.

She walked along, her blond hair fluttering in the wind, her small wings fluttered around her. Her white robe didn't offer much protection from the extreme cold, and as her steps began to get colder, her blue eyes misted over with the realization that she was freezing to death.

How had she gotten here, where was she going? Her family of renowned dancers and acrobats had agreed to split up to meet at a small town some distance away, but in the bland whiteness of the endless fields of snow, she had gotten turned around and ultimately, lost. Then she stumbled accross others of her troupe, huddled together in death, seeking some desperate source of warmth in the bitter cold, stranded in the night, unable to find shelter, and completely lost. She was all alone now. Freezing, and dying.

Calbrena fell over, having lost feeling in her legs. This was it, she was going to die. She closed her eyes in resignation, what a waste, to freeze to death in the Salvar Ice fields.

She was in a mansion somewhere, an old man she barely recognized as being someone she should remember was watching her.
"Is this all you've got, and you've got MY blood in your veins?" The old man said.
Calbrena stirred.
"No, I'm better than that, I'll show you, I can do better." Calbrena said weakly.
Half aware, she struggled to her feet. Calbrena was indeed a spirit, but was neither completely good, nor completely evil. Slowly a red glow spread through her skin, turning red, from white, and toughening it up slightly. Her hands grew sharp claws, and her hair, like her eyes, grew black. Her robes and her wings even turned black, her wings becoming leathery.

Fire began to spontaneously appear around her, and Calbrena was thankful for it's warmth. The warmth spread through her body as she trudged on, determined to survive this frozen hell.

Finally, a small town appeared in the distance, she was saved. The light had begun to fade, so few lights would be on, but surely there would be smoke from the fireplaces.
No matter, perhaps they were gathered all at the inn for community warmth. She would recover here, and move on, perhaps to corone, she heard it was a more pleasant environment this time of year. She spied a loose notice laying about, advertising something about food for the victims of war. It was mostly illegibe due to the snow, but she managed to get the gist of it. Maybe that was what was going on here. A desperate entity will do many things to survive, even if it's against it's normal nature. As a currently evil spirit, Calbrena was willing to forgo letting her evil nature loose upon them, and turn good just to survive. So saying, she reigned in her evilness, as golden light infused her body, turning her robes and skin white, softening it in the process, her hair and her eyes blue, and her wings white and feathery. She stumbled over to the inn and made her way inside, collapsing close to a bar, her wings spread wide.

"Sanctuary!" she cried, seconds before falling unconscious from exhaustion. It was obvious by looking at her that she wasn't human, or elven, or anything normal, but instead something else entirely.

[Inkfinger]

The wooden reverberations of the door slamming open and hitting the wall sent Cael rolling out of his pallet of tapestries and linens in a muddled panic, fumbling for the shaft of his naginata. Sore fingertips hit smooth polished wood, half-trained muscles sliding into an awkward – but serviceable – defensive position before he really let the scene in the shadows register on his brain, convinced he was about to die for a country he didn’t even really like that much.

When the cold air hitting his face finally cleared the rest of the sleep from his mind, and the only things he could see was a girl – woman? – with wings (wait, wings, what?)sprawled on the floor, and the open door letting snow and wind into the room, he lowered the weapon, running a hand through the shaggy mess of his hair.

Well. He set the naginata down, and moved to shut the door against the gusts of wind. That’s not what I was expecting, either way. The door latched with a click, and he turned to inspect the newcomer, bare foot slipping on something cold and wet and papery, the texture entirely different than the worn-smooth wood of the floor. For a moment, he almost thought he'd stepped on It, but the familiar was still perched on the table, guarding his inkwell. Reassured, Cael glanced down to find a copy of Ludvik's letter, now stuck to his foot.

Hellgates. How’d that get all the way out here? Unless that’s why she’s here… He peeled it off and smashed it into a small, damp ball of paper that he threw towards the fireplace. It bounced off the mantle to lie next to the pallet. He ignored it, moving to the woman’s side carefully. Just because she looked human – well, mostly human – didn’t mean she was harmless, but she had asked for sanctuary…

“Ah, little sister…” Cael murmured in Salvic as he knelt down next to her, hand going to feel her pulse. “You may have found the wrong place to ask for that.” Her skin was cold to the touch, but her heartbeat seemed normal, and she was breathing. Cael sat back on his heels, playing with his bottom lip as he thought. She wasn’t exactly short, so she wouldn’t exactly be the lightest person in the world, and he’d never really had to pick up a grown woman. Children, yes, but she wasn’t small enough to be picked up and carried like that.

He resorted to the next best thing, tugging down yet another of the tapestries and dragging it over to her. He folded the woven cloth into a makeshift blanket, and draped it over her form, not even trusting that it would be a good idea to roll her over.

Those wings don’t exactly look durable.

Cael stood once she was covered, moving back to set a wrought-iron kettle over the glowing embers of the fire. The inn still had a few of the more luxurious, less practical foodstuffs, including a small box of teas. He’d already gone through a few packets – if he was going to be bored out of his mind in some deserted inn, he might as well enjoy himself somehow while he waited, right? – but there was more than enough for his uninvited guest.

Once the kettle was set, he sat back down - half watching the woman, half watching the door – to wait.

[Aiko]

Calbrena lay there on the floor. In a fever she dreamed, and as others who have experienced the, will tell, fever dreams are not always pleasant. If she had been awake, she would've apologized ahead of time for what was to come.

As it was, she lay there, and she dreamed.

A mansion, large and comfortable, yet something was wrong with it. The floors were of marble, overlayed with a soft comfortable exotic silk rug from some far off nation. Golden Candelabras hung every twenty feet or so, lit with a black flame, a demonic flame. There were many doors to many rooms, yet the place seemed so big, and scary, but why was that?

Cael, who was watching her and the door, would hear a slight whimper coming from her, as she began to glow slightly red.

She was a child! She remembered, that's why it seemed so big and scary, and all her brothers and sisters didn't help much either. She thought they all had funny names, Lust, Greed, Wrath, Envy, Pride, Sloth, and Gluttony. They were also known as The Seven Deadly Sins, and each and every one of them were very powerful demons, each possessed of a form equal to an area of the dark side of civilized nature they specialized in, which is where their names derived from. Calbrena, she was a demon too.

Cael would learn this for a fact, as the glow subsided, and he found himself watching a burning demoness, and the door. Yet her fire seemed weak, and didn't actually burn anything. Perhaps it could normally though.

But her brothers and sisters weren't why she was frightened. In dreams she wouldn't remember clearly upon waking, she recalled her father, the father of The Seven Deadly Sins, a Demon God named Grandfather. She couldn't recall Grandfather too clearly, he hardly ever seemed to be around her. She remembered he had gigantic black wings he kept wrapped around him like a cape. He also was an unloving father.

Cael would hear the sleeping demoness mutter a single word in her slumber, sometimes with fear, sometimes with hatred, but never with love, and each time she did, her claws raked the floorboards slightly as her hands clenched, and that one word, was "Grandfather".

Grandfather drove his children to become as powerful as he, and each, in their own way, did. He claimed Calbrena was a disappointment. From a young age, she never developed quite like her brothers and sisters, for Calbrena was nice. Her mother, Aiko, protected her as much as she could, but there were incidents she didn't know of.

As time passed by, Cael would finally notice Calbrena stirring and getting restless in her sleep.

Calbrena's fever began to lighten up, but her dreams, they got worse, recalling the first time her demon side emerged.
"Miserable little runt, I should kill you right now and spare myself the embarrassment you'll become." Grandfather had said holding out his hands to strike Calbrena down.
She had already been roughed up and slapped around already. If it weren't for the innocence she possessed as a spirit of light, and a child, she would already be dead. Anger and hatred blossomed in her soul, and fire curled around her flesh for the first time, as she become a demoness. But alas, it was too late, Grandfather had already killed her. In desperation she fled to her mother's crown of insanity, and hid there in safety until she died.

Calbrena rolled over one last time, and sat bolt upright screaming "NO!"

She shook her head, looked around her, and spied the damage to the floor, her fever broken.
"Well, at least my nails are nice and sharpened." She said, looking at the floor.

She stood up, and turned to Cael.
"Thank you for helping me, my name is Calbrena, however might I repay you? I heard something of a delivery of food to the starving needy families affected by the war, perhaps I could help out with that." Calbrena said, as she turned back into a less intimidating angel.

[Inkfinger]

Cael didn’t wait for the girl to awaken before helping himself to the tea. Why let the hot water go to waste? He sat in his chair by the fire for much of the night, tapestry blanket gathered around his shoulder, watching the stranger with no small amount of worry.

The girl seemed exhausted, lying deathly still, her face glistening with an unhealthy sheen of sweat. She had a fever, that much was obvious, but he wasn’t a doctor, he wasn’t a healer, and he barely remembered - from his own illnesses and those of his family – what to even do for a fever. Are you supposed to eat during fevers? Feed a cold, starve a fever, right? Or is that the other way around…? Not that it matters until she wake up, really…one way or the other…

There really wasn’t much he could do, aside from sketching out a quick compress spell on a piece of scrap paper and resting it on her forehead. It took three such compresses and four mugs of increasingly-cold tea before anything really changed. He was halfway through marking out the intricate sigils when she made her first sound, a whimper…

Not exactly unexpected.

He turned in his chair, absent-mindedly continuing to write the memorized signs…

And blinked, barely noticing when his hand faltered for the second time that night, dragging an ugly line of black across the healing symbols.

The girl was glowing. Not reflecting the firelight, but shining red, as if she was generating her own light. He finally set his pen down and stood, reaching out with one slightly-wavering hand to tug the blanket off. It only confirmed what he’d been thinking.

He wasn’t imagining the glow.

I’ve heard of burning up, Cael thought, staring, But this is ridiculous… He reached back with one hand, prodding It where it perched on the edge of the table, head tucked under its wing. The familiar started awake, head shooting up to glare at Cael. Cael could almost imagine the look it would have if it had eyes…

He cut off the inevitable tirade (why do you get mad when I wake you? You’re paper, you don’t need to sleep!) with a tilt of his head, towards where the girl slept. It just joined him in staring, tiny paper feathers mussed. “Demon, I think. The familiar finally said, words so tiny he had to squint to read them; Its’ form of whispering. “But the wings do not fit…ah.” The glow faded away, leaving a figure that looked…mostly the same, only less pale and equipped with…

Bat wings? Cael had to admit this did not seem like an improvement. Especially not since she was burning. He eyed the floor nervously, imagining her burning right through.

“Demon, hmm?” He finally managed, trying to seem non-committal.

“Yes.”

“I’m guessing I shouldn’t dump water on her.”

“…No.”

Cael heaved a sigh, clawing his hand through his hair. “Right, then.” He picked up his tapestry from where it had fallen, and collapsed back into his chair. “Keep an eye on her, tell me if she stops…” He grimaced, rubbing his forehead. “Stops flaming.”

The ruined compress spell stared back at him as he turned back to it. He growled a low curse, shoving it aside and fetching a new piece.

The flames seemed to be the marker of a changing point, Cael found himself thinking, compresses abandoned for blade cranes. As soon as the flames had begun, the girl had started moving more: restless. Talking. Mostly babble, but every now and then there was a word recognizable: “Grandfather.”

Always grandfather.

He was on his feet again before too long, pacing from one end of the inn’s gathering room to the other, trailing the tapestry like a dusty robe. “Think this means she’s waking up?” He hoped so; it was growing lighter outside, the soft grey light of pre-dawn sneaking through the curtainless windows.

“I don’t know.” It flapped down from one of the lanterns suspended from the ceiling to hover in midair before his face. “I do know she’s found the cutlery.”

“…what?” Cael glanced back to the girl. She was clawing grooves in the floor. “Aw, damnit.” The bat-wings had been bad enough – now she had to add claws – sharp claws – to the mix? “I don’t think she even knows she’s doing that…”

"NO!"

Both man and familiar jumped at the loud cry as the girl shot upright, eyes wide. Cael hovered back near the bar, eying the naginata now halfway across the room and cursing whatever deity had charge of weapons proximity. Whichever god or goddess that was, he’d apparently angered them in a past life. It landed on his shoulder, backed up beneath the fold of the tapestry. Neither of them knew what to think.

The girl spoke, standing, her body shifting back to the way it had been when she’d stumbled in the door. "Thank you for helping me, my name is Calbrena, however might I repay you? I heard something of a delivery of food to the starving needy families affected by the war, perhaps I could help out with that."

Cael sputtered. She was assuming and she was guessing and she'd given her name out just like that and and and...

“I. I mean. That’s to say. I appreciate your offer but weren’t you just…just...” he lost the train of thought, and tried to switch to a different point. “…And you have no idea what you’re even getting into, why I’m here, what any of this is about, do you? I can’t go dragging random people into some craziness that might or might not work without them knowing about it and-”

It pecked him on the jaw, sternly. “You’re babbling in Salvic. At least speak something someone else can understand?”

He trailed off, grimacing and swearing to mostly avoid her question for now. Until he could think of a way to explain things that wouldn’t boil down to ‘this man is an impulsive idiot’. He, instead, gestured at the fire and said the first thing he could think of in tradespeak.

“…Tea?”

[Aiko]

Calbrena got up and sat at the table, and accepted a cup of tea. After she had a few minutes to clear her mind, she spoke. She felt a cold coming on, and wasn't pleased by the prospect.

"I suppose an introduction is in order, You don't know who, or what I really am. I am Calbrena, but that name does not carry with it, any weight. I am exactly half angel, and half demon, by parentage alone having made no choice in the matter. My mother was an angel, kidnapped and captured from the places where the good spirits dwell, and forcibly raped and impregnated by my father. It is my father that you might recognize. He is a powerful Demon God known only as Grandfather. He is the father of my brothers and sisters, The Seven Deadly Sins. Many think their just a concept set up by certain religous orders to keep their sheep, I mean followers, in line, but their real alright, and each one is very powerful in a certain area. I am no where near as experienced or powerful as they, so I am not yet at their level.

So, what am I doing here? I'm too weak to survive, out there, at least for very long. I am of fires so great they weaken the very soul. But this is because I am native to The Pyre, where Grandfather and The Seven Deadly Sins dwell. I am desperate to survive, and so am willing to help you with this notion to give food to the hungry, in exchange for helping me survive the extreme cold. Surely after this is all over, we'll be close enough to a border to where I can flee to warmer, more hospitable climates. I promise, I won't turn on you or anything, I'll stick with you to the end, I just need help getting to somewhere warmer, like Corone or Scara Brae, afterwards." Calbrena said in tradespeak.

She calmly sipped her tea, and set it down.

"ACHOO!" She sneezed towards the doorway. Yep, the cold was coming on. This wasn't going to be pleasant. She grabbed a small square of loose fabric nearby and blew her nose on it, a sound like a loud horn.

[wizardmon599]

Seven days and nights could quickly turn to many when trapped in an icy wasteland, the likes of which only nightmares could create...
The young elf could only hope that she was not too late.

She held her position, taking in the small town's lack of life. The sight was honestly depressing--even for someone as socially awkward as Livane the people-watcher.
Every spot her glowing eyes traced over held evidence where someone lost had been. Her mind romanticized smiling people that she would never know, and carefree children at play that she would never have the pleasure of watching. Livane felt as if she could cry as the jubilant faces she'd imagined in the dirty, heavily frosted windows vanish one by one. The buildings were as dead as their inhabiters would have been if they'd stayed, and the silence was as smothering as the arctic wind that was crowding her face.

Only the gods knew how she'd made it so far on so few supplies. As a matter of fact, it was quite a miracle that the frost had not taken her fragile life within the first few days...
Livane cuddled the borrowed, battered coat closer to her small hips and thought of the start of her spontaneous journey. The idea spurred from the need of another. She'd agreed almost instantly, with no thoughts of what was to come.
It had been only a week (or so she speculated) since she'd left F'bael in Knife's Edge. She'd gotten to know the merchant rather well in their day of plotting, and she would have preferred his awkward company to no company at all---quite strange for her.
But maybe the chilling lonliness could affect even the most frozen of hearts.

Knife's Edge was a city both years ahead---and years behind---of its time. Random walls were placed everywhich direction, making it hard to traverse any area without losing oneself in a crowd of beggars, or finding oneself back where one had started.
She'd wandered for hours, through rich and poor streets galore, before arriving at the odd neighborhood. There stood a captivating building, surrounded by dirty shacks and small cabin-looking dwellings. Cautious eyes followed her every action from the shadows as she approached it to marvel the unique architechture. Watching the rouge-tinted beauty be snatched away by the dismal setting, she remembered, was quite upsetting.

"The building's not for sale." She jumped nearly a foot when she turned and saw a man staring at her, his dark eyes concentrated on her face.
His skin was very tan, and his hair glittered in the amount of light that the early evening allowed. Elven ears poked out of the sides of his head.

"I-I'm sorry...!" Livane defensively backed up, allowing more space between them.
He didn't move.
Quickly, she turned her head to catch a glimpse of the letters on sign of the building, praying for a quick save.
"I am--" The sign held strange characters, the likes of which the elf had never imagined much less seen. What was that language?! A picture of a hat was her only idea of what, exactly, it was, she'd needed at the time. She cursed in her thoughts and hoped the man did not sell hats. "--in need of your clothing wares...?" Immediately, she turned a glare to her feet. If all else failed she could run, though her tortured arches screamed in protest. After a few moments, she forced her stare upright again with all of the nerve that she had. To her surprise, he had stepped back and was taking a long look at her semi-tattered, green robe. A small smile spread across his face.

"I'll say..." Was he kidding? ...No laugh escaped his lips. The dark elf motioned for her to follow as he began to enter the odd shop. She obediently did so, relieved that she'd saved herself more social turmoil---though still a little curious about his strange reply...

Varying shades of red graced every inch of the interior of the building, much like the outside of it. Rubies were hung in various places, the fire in the fireplace was especially bright, and even his elven wardrobe was woven with fine strands of red silk. Through later conversation, she discovered that he had a strange fondness of the bold color (although she'd stumbled across the fact on her own.)

They introduced themselves, F'bael and Livane.
They talked of many things---the coming bad weather, thoughts on what clothing design would fit her skinny frame best... She'd managed so well in endless conversation with the kind merchant that she was impressed with herself.
...And then came the question that began it all...

"So," he'd said, "what brings you searching for a wardrobe change?" He was staring at her reddish hair intently.

Livane looked to her feet. "I...have a long way to travel..."

"Oh?" F'bael chuckled. "After walking about this city, you're still willing to use your feet?"
It was true... Wandering aimlessly had actually worn her out, for once. Though what he had said didn't seem very much like a joke.

"Something is happening Raiaera... I don't know much about the problems, since I am new to this land, but...." She paused, startled by the stern look on his face.

The merchant scoffed. "Another fighter off to die in another pointless fight?"
She had nothing to say in response, so he continued.
"You want to stop the madness, right?" The patronization in his voice disheartened her.
Maybe that was the actual turning point of their conversation.

And so it began. Her voice failed her when she'd needed it most, just like always. The flustered elf could do nothing but clutch her elbows and wait for the harsh words to start...
...But none came.
Instead, F'bael had managed to lean over the counter, seconds away from her ear. His stone expression was unchanged. "There are other places, more in need than Raiaera. More innocent people dying. People that don't even have a war to fight."
The skepticism in her expression had apparently been well-hidden, since he didn't seem to notice. Further inspection of her memory revealed that he didn't even seem to care that he'd practically blown his entire cover.

"Can I trust you...?" His question was pointless. Whether or not he could, guards would never trust an outsider, not in a time of war. She nodded, her eyes wide with intrigue.

His tale of past happenings had been spun with utmost care, almost like he'd been practicing the right things to say to suck the next victim into his scheme. The rescue mission and the food-delivery plan itself had been revealed to her in so few details that she almost felt cheated, though she agreed to take on his offer, demanding only winter clothes to get to her destination.

After a day's worth of planning, a small amount of supplies to provide for two (counting her snake), a sketched map, and a dark red coat, she set out into the unknown, trusting only her feet and the directions of a close stranger. Knowing that helping someone was within her power, she would never be able to forgive herself if she passed it up---not that she had a choice, and F'bael had made that clear.

A gust of powerful, frosty wind brought her back from her recollection.
The nearly blinding daylight had quickly turned tolerable during her session of thoughts.
If she was too late, there was no possible way for her to survive. Her mana had run dry, she had no source of heat without magic, and she was quite literally starving.
Making it one more day without civilization would seal her doom.

Standing still for so long had done her legs no justice.
Slowly, she unlatched her long, oak staff from the strap across the back of the coat and staggered forward. The ice under her old boots crunched as she inched closer to her destination-- the Broken Gryphon inn.

She stared at the building, trying to decide the best course of action. Her body ached from the cold... The elf could not take much more abuse from the weather.
Livane could not feel the violent shaking in her barely-gloved hands as she gripped her staff and dragged herself up the small staircase that lead to the ruined porch of the abandoned inn. With the last of her strength, she forced the tip of the magical weapon forward in a loud knock.
"I come from Knife's Edge..." She hesitated, deciding whether or not a name would be too much information.
After a long pause, she continued.
"F'bael sent me."

[Inkfinger]

The winter-bright sun was streaming golden light through the windows, and Cael’s tea was lukewarm by the time Calbrena finished her story. He absently stirred the murky liquid with his index finger as he listened, half-incredulous, half-worried. Angel wasn’t a word he recognized. Demon he knew, but not in any positive light – mostly in half-whispered rumors of the Church bringing things from somewhere else to fight for them.

And we all know how accurate rumors in Salvar are.

He tried to keep his ill-ease hidden, absent-mindedly tracing lazy designs on the ruined compress paper with his tea-dripping fingertips, trying to think of how best to answer her. Will she transform if she gets angry? He didn’t really want to find out.

"That's the thing, miss Calbrena," He finally spoke, carefully, still watching his hands flicking over the paper – it was easier than watching the woman, right now. "I don’t know when this will be over." His voice came low and hesitant, coated in a layer of worry.

"If one side or the other wins, an' maybe food starts gettin' through alrigh'," Which, if he knew anything at all about his country, would not happen, "It could be over within a week…but if the standoff continues…" He raised his eyes to Calbrena’s, smile as hesitant as his words. "We could be doin' this for a couple months at least, ‘til things start warmin' up again."

If we don’t get caught and killed first. He left that part out when his eyes fell to the paper again. The tea blotches had soaked together to form something that looked very much like a hangman’s noose – he shuddered and crumpled the paper, tossing it to land with the discarded letter next to his pallet before continuing, voice colored with false bravado.

"But! With any luck," He knocked his bare knuckles on the table with a smile, "We'll be t'a port within weeks, not months. That'd be t'best way for you t'get t'somewhere warmer without havin' t'pass through Raiaera." The southern part of the continent had problems of its own, but he left that out as well; surely she would know already. He stood up, wincing when various joints snapped with the motion.

"I’m guessin' y'haven't eaten in awhile…” He continued, changing the subject to something he thought he could handle better right now as he stooped to pick up the discarded papers and toss them into the fire. They burst into flames instantly, orange and red flaring up at the fresh fuel. He watched them burn for the shortest fraction of a minute before he turned away, finishing his sentence. "I don’t have a lot," and the irony of that is simply astounding, "But you're welcome t'share what I do have."

And we’ll just have to make do…

He had just reached his pack to retrieve the last loaf of bread he'd saved when something impacted with the door. He started, the bread falling from his suddenly-cold hand, the dull thud echoing against the walls. White flashed past the corner of his eye, It's wings flapping so fast they were a blur. He just watched the familiar land on the windowsill, acutely aware of Calbrena at the table. Was she watching? Had she seen him flinch? Could demons smell fear? For that matter, could angels?

Gods, Caelric, grow up. You can’t have a heart attack at every little noise, every little unknown… He scolded himself as It fluttered back to his hand, preening his paper feathers back into place.

"She’s from F'bael, you heard her." It reported, settling itself on his shoulder. "He doesn’t give that name to just anyone – either she's on the level or we are so screwed that it doesn't matter anymore." The floating words had a jaunty shape to them, as if the familiar was teasing. "Let her in before her feet freeze to the doorstep, you big baby."

Great, so It, at least, had seen.

He didn’t bother to pull on his boots. He just picked up his naginata from where he'd leaned it, holding it ready - but not threatening - as he padded over. He pulled the heavy wooden door open a careful crack - and then relaxed, setting the weapon aside.

The poor woman on the stoop looked as exhausted as Calbrena had the night before, pale and shivering in an old coat that looked awfully familiar. He had the brief, not-entirely-welcome mental image of him heading a rebellion consisting entirely of young women before he swung the door wide enough for her to enter.

"Come in, come in," He took a step back and waved his arm, almost-but-not-quite a bow. Before I let all the warm air out! "Before you freeze."

[samuraibobx]

It had been a week since Tamo had managed to lose the pesky gnomish knight named Thomas Pats-his-son, or whatever his name was. Point was, he was far, far away, and the little stuntie had no way in hell of figuring out where he was. Which was good, because most people don't shoot the heir to the Gnomish Knights and get away with it lightly; he lost his best tin cup though. Oh well, at least he was in one piece. If the accosting manling hadn't been such an unexpected dupe, this little hobgoblin would most likely be rotting in jail at this point as a feast for maggots and worms.

Even still, he was anything but scott free. The nearest small town had been way too far away to get there without some sort of assistance. So, Tamo had stowed away aboard a small skiff to Knife's Edge, then used an old goblin tunnel his cousin had mentioned to get to this little rag hole in half the time it would have taken most people. At least in this town, there was work, or so the note said. Tamo took out the crumpled, stained piece of paper and smoothed it before rereading what it said, just to make sure he was in the right place.

Cousin-

I've heard there's a war going up in the north. Big nasty stuff. Some people have told me that there's a group that travels up there regularly to give supplies and stuff. Thing is, they've got a permit to go to both sides. And you know what that means! Send some money over my way too, ya greedy-

Tamo folded the note back up and trudged through the grungy little town. It was quaint and fairly small. From the looks of it, there was a small bit of agriculture thanks to the nearby river, but not much else. Basically, the town was dirt poor and could easily be written off. Which was exaclty what he needed.

Finally breaking through the last bit of dirt in the tunnel, Tamo was confronted with a large face of wood. Funny, his map suggested that he should have arrived at the outskirts of the village. He poked experimentally at the boards before reeling back and smashing them as hard as he could with his borrowed shovel. It splintered a bit, but didn't break. Tamo continued hammering away at it over and over until finally, the boards gave way to a lit interior. Curious, the Hobgoblin poked his head around. He seemed to have come up in the middle of some inn and judging from the stares of some tea drinking pansy and his friends, this was quite unexpected. He paid no mind though, and brushed himself off a bit, returning their own stares with his one good eye and his empty socket.

"What? Never seen a hobgoblin before?"

[Aiko]

"ACHOO! RACHOO!" Calbrena sneezed a couple of times as the exausted elf appeared at the door. Her appearence startled Calbrena, and the obvious reaction of fear positivly reeking off the man made Calbrena want to turn demon and claw him to death, then claw to death whoever was beyond the door, but she refrained.

After seeing it was someone on their side, Calbrena looked over at Cael, even as she blew her nose and smiled. Him and two ladies, all alone, it must be his lucky day. She was just about to say something about it, when something began hammering at the floor.

"What the hell? You got a dead body trying to get out down there or something?" Calbrena asked, standing. She was prepared for a zombie, or a monstrous worm of some sort, or maybe even a lost dwarf, but not a hobgoblin, and because she wasn't expecting a hobgoblin she was startled, badly, and her fear caused her to become a demoness. The brown entity on the floor was entirely to blame for Calbrena losing it and turning demoness. She hadn't really wanted to show that side of herself again, but being so driven by the fear Cael was feeling earlier, and then being startled herself, she couldn't help herself.

Fire radiated off her skin in bursts, as she stood there, seconds from clawing someone's eyes out and fleeing. An angered demon was one thing, a frightened one was another. Dark Arcane symbols danced around her fingers, made purely of her own demonic energy, as she was preparing to curse the first person that moved, making them poorer at some ability, hopefully fighting, but Calbrena had no control over what.

That was of course, unless some started talking, and fast, and calmed her down. Almost in sympathy, the fire crackled and popped in the fireplace. She glared at Cael, and decided if he wasn't convincing, he was going to be the first to go.