While the faeries dance in a place apart... {Open}

[Jarilo]

She materialized out of the sylvan shadows as if she were made of them.

At night, her blue skin seemed even more unnatural than it already was. Something more apt to those bereft of life, perhaps, and made even stranger by the fine, spiderweb network of white, bio-luminescent tracery that could be seen on any exposed stretch of skin—and which was, in fact, present all over her body. As she came to standstill, the root-like dreadlocks that she called hair floated to their own stillness almost weightlessly behind her, despite their bulk. Though, they did nothing to hide either the antlers that sprouted from the top of her head, or the white-furred goat ears that were located where more normal ears should be.

She was dressed practically, in form-fitting leather and cotton—an ensemble fit for any travelling archer and musician—but she was barefoot. Barely perceptible in the dark of the night, a raven sat on her shoulder, aloof and nestled atop the leather strap that held her quiver and her bow in place on her back, just left of her rucksack. She carried her wood flute in hand, just as she almost always did, and her runes clicked softly against each other in the velvet pouch that carried them, held securely at her hip by a leather belt.

A road cut its path before her like a pale serpent, gleaming soft under the gentle, early moonlight, fighting its way through the primordial wilderness that was her home, Dheathain, with stubborn naivete. Statuesque in her momentary stillness, she shut her steely eyes for a moment, listening to the alien sounds of the forest around and behind her, and she smiled. But there was no softness in this smile. Rather, like ice cracking rock, it was merciless and irrefutable. And then, the moment passed and she opened her eyes again, padding gracefully upon the road before her, following the serpentine curve of it forwards—ever forwards—until her runes led her somewhere else.

The raven shook himself suddenly, and a raspy caw escaped its ebony beak to shatter the stifling silence.

Smirking, she reached up to run a couple fingers down the sleek, inky plumage of its chest. “Complainer,” she sang to him in a whisper, “Just because I wouldn’t let you eat those berries… which any fledgeling worth his feathers would have immediately recognized as poisonous, I might add...”

The raven shifted indignantly on his perch and did not bother with a reply. She wouldn’t have listened anyway, even if he did. She was more preoccupied by the darkling beauty of her surroundings, and by the invigorating chill in the air. Indeed, in a sudden fit of merriment, she placed her flute on her chin—just below her lips—and began to play a haunting, nameless melody in the forest’s honor. Like so many times before, her own music filled her—ardent as a lover—and her body could not help but to respond.

Her dancing was a force of nature—a feline stalking its prey, a snake coiling into itself, a stag fighting for its mate. It was graceful and bestial and timeless.

Her dancing dislodged her raven from his perch, and he fell in just behind her, his beady black eyes focused on the forest around her, as her lookout.

~*~

Eventually, though, her dancing feet carried her to the edge of a large clearing. She stopped, panting, to look upon it while her raven reclaimed his perch.

Black as the night sky it reflected, she could clearly see a lake glittering resplendently in the moonlight, not too far off from where she currently stood. It took up most of the clearing, in fact, nestled as it was among the ghostly reeds and creeping mist. She imagined that it was some fishing hole, most likely, or a quaint spot for weary travelers to take some rest. Certainly, it would give her the chance to catch her breath while she performed a casting for herself.

“Wotan,” she called her raven by name, as she started walking towards the lake.

The raven responded by taking off once more in search of a good place. He landed a few moments later on a rock that was far enough from the road to keep their casting concealed, and yet far enough from the lake so that the water’s natural energies wouldn’t interfere over much. When Jarilo caught up, she kneeled beside his new perch and focused herself.

After a pause, she began...

She drew the first rune and placed it upside down on the ground towards the right. Othila: home. In this position, it meant her past. Upside down, it was a reminder of those that ridiculed her, and the warning that failure to take a calculated risk would be costly.

She drew a second rune and placed it face up on the ground in front of herself. Ansuz. Her rune: the rune of wisdom, and of communication. The message. In this position, it represented who she was in the present. Face up, it spoke of the importance of both knowledge and truth.

She drew a third rune and placed it face up on the ground towards the left. Pertho: the empty cup. In this position, it represented the future. Face up meant that it spoke of the potential of all things, and the necessity of personal choice.

She drew a fourth rune and placed it face up below the second rune. Sowilo: victory and discovery. The energy of the sun. In this position, it was the Foundation. Face up, it spoke of the underlying reasons for her choice to become caitiff, and the reasons that drove her still. She wanted to learn about herself, and she wanted to see where the runes would take her.

She drew a fifth rune and placed it upside down just above the second rune. Ehwaz: the horse. The rune of speed and momentum. In this position, it was the Challenge. Upside down meant that she was being cautioned to resist lethargy, regression, and muddled thinking.

She drew one last rune and placed it face up above the fifth rune. Dagaz: the breakthrough. It was the rune of dawn, the transformation of night into day. In this position, it was the Outcome. Face up, it told her that she was on the right path. It told her that she was being guided towards change, and that she only needed to stay humble and thankful for what was to come.

Startling her, Wotan cawed, expressing his opinion on the runes’ message.

“Hush,” she chided him, “The runes are always vague, but the message was on that I needed to hear regardless.”

[Breaker]

One day prior in Radasanth, Corone.

Shadows played along the inside of the ornate tent's canvas walls, cast by the flickering luminescence of the Diviner's crystal ball. The woman raked her fingers through long, dirty blonde hair and smoothed the belly of her purple silken dress. She gazed into the glowing ball with such intensity her head shook from side to side, rattling the bone earrings that dangled from stretched piercings. Her pupils widened until her brown eyes seemed white, reflecting the light from her instrument. A low moan escaped the fortune teller's lips as energy coursed through her body.

"Is this really going to help?" Jacob Narmolanya asked his friend and mentor. The young half-elf removed his cloth cap by the brim and tousled his own dirty blond hair. He glanced over his shoulder at his constantly re-shaping shadow. It danced and morphed upon the wall embroidered with celestial patterns. "Can't you just ask your lady friend?" Jake whispered, "you know, the one who loves the water..."

Joshua "Breaker" Cronen stifled a chuckle and elbowed Jake gently, hazel eyes never leaving the dancing light inside the Diviner's orb. He had not heard from the Goddess Ama'leh in several months, but he was not fearful nor jilted by her absence. If anything it indicated he was that much closer to enlightenment... the last few steps toward deification would be taken alone, he felt certain.

"Sometimes we have to find things out the hard way," Josh whispered to his friend and student. He'd questioned many folk and crossed many a palm with gold to uncover the identity of Radasanth's finest fortune teller. The woman in the long purple dress had the kind of track record even Jake couldn't scoff at. She'd correctly predicted the outcome of the Corone war, and foretold the timing of the last three great droughts to within a day. Many other less significant stories surrounded her in mystery; she had reunited lost family and lovers, helped farmers on their last legs turn a solid profit, and all manner of other good deeds. A sack heavy with Coronian crowns had bought Breaker an audience, and he'd asked the question that had plagued him since last he met with Ama'leh.

Where can I find the next step on my path to ascension? No one could tell him exactly what to do - Ama'leh had made that much clear - but the powerful Diviner would be able to give him a location, or so he hoped.

The Diviner gasped suddenly, a drawn out inhalation that threatened to suck all the air from the tent. She arched her back and splayed her arms and vibrated with the force of energy that coursed through her like lightning down an iron rod.

Jake snorted but Josh could sense the raw power of the Diviner and her crystal ball unifying to a single purpose. Jake saw only the dim light of the orb, but to Joshua's eyes the Diviner herself glowed with the same white radiance.

"There!" The fortune teller spoke at last, barely breathing the syllable as she collapsed to her knees, hands held aloft to frame the orb with skeletal fingers.

At first it seemed as though the light within the orb had turned to darkness, but then Breaker saw the shimmering of water under a night sky. It was a small calm lake set in a forest clearing, with ripples lapping gently at the reeds protruding from the water near the shore.

"Jake," Josh whispered, afraid he might break the Diviner's focus, "have you got it?"

"Give me a moment," the half elf replied, and sank to his knees in a mirror image of the woman maintaining the vision. Jake's green eyes drank in the sight of the lake, noting its unique shape, the arrangement of rocks along the shore, even the number of reeds he could see poking through the dark water's surface. Every detail would be important later when he created a portal to that very location. "Got it," he said at last.

The Diviner sighed and relaxed her hands and collapsed backwards to sit on a pile of cushions arranged to catch her. Sweat shone on her brow as the dancing white light returned to the crystal ball, and she drew several haggard breaths before speaking.

"The place I showed you is in Dheathain," she managed, shivering slightly and pulling a woolen shawl about her shoulders, "More than that, I cannot tell you."

"That's more than enough," Jake said with a confident smile, "I can send you there right now if you like, Josh."

"Not yet," Breaker mused, pressing an extra gold crown into the Diviner's palm and clapping a heavy hand on Jake's shoulder to steer the youth outside, "We'll wait until tomorrow afternoon. It should be full dark in Dheathain around then."

~*~

The oaken doorway was perfectly mundane, excepting the fact that it appeared from nowhere just above the dark waters of the lake. It swung open and a thin shaft of sunlight poured through, reflecting off the water as if to throw some light into the starless sky.

"Well done Jake," an amused voice carried through the opening, "you put the door right on top of the lake."

"At least it's close to shore," A younger, equally amused tone responded, "and I'm certain it's the right lake this time." Laughter from a different continent disturbed the peace in the Dheathanian forest clearing. Jake's portals were not always so accurate.

The water alongside the open door froze, mist rising visibly in the sun shaft as an icy pathway formed linking door to shore. A black metallic boot stepped through and landed confidently on the ice, followed shortly by its twin, and Joshua Cronen.

Breaker smiled in the silence as Jake's doorway winked out of existence, leaving him alone in the darkness. He walked swiftly to the shore, ice crunching beneath is boots and black sifan pants swishing. He wore a matching collared shirt and had his hair cropped short and his face shaven. The twinned Y-shaped scars beneath his eyes were so white they might be clearly visible in the dark Dheathanian night. Rising onto the balls of his feet, the warrior scanned the immediate surroundings. Despite the darkness his keen eyes spotted the snaking road a short distance away. With no other landmarks in sight, he strode toward the road, letting his sixth sense sniff out any traces of magic nearby.

Unlike Concordia, the great Coronian forest he had departed from, the Dheathanian woods were alive with magical forces. He could detect the arcane signatures of plant and animal life alike... but only one life sign seemed strong enough to be human. Or rather, inhuman...

Breaker adjusted his path to put himself on an intercept course with the being he'd detected. It made sense - what other manner of creature could he expect to encounter in the wilds of Dheathain? Anticipation raced through his veins like Alerian Firewhisky. It had been a long time since he encountered a Fae.

Let me know if anything needs to be changed.

[Jarilo]

The only warning she had before the portal appeared over the lake was a nervous squawk from Wotan, but it was enough to send her sprinting to hide behind the nearest tree. Luckily, she’d had enough time to gather her runes before the unexpected intrusion--

Then, suddenly, a flash of daylight pierced the sacred, fragile bubble of night--blinding her--and she heard laughter. Around her, the forest fell into a wary silence, as if holding its breath. Somewhere above her, Wotan concealed himself within the trees’ lingering blackness. Another caw told her that someone--a male--had stepped out of the portal and was headed in her direction. Apparently, he could sense her presence, which meant that he also had some passing skill with magic, which was a problem.

While she blinked furiously in an attempt to restore her sight, she heard the stranger's footsteps draw nearer.

“Tch,” she complained as she drew her bow and nocked it. Then, whirling from behind the tree to stand in the clearing again, she took aim at the likeliest humanoid shape. “Who are you?!” she demanded.

A she-wolf with her hackles raised, she watched the stranger intently and made sure to keep the forest at her back.

Then, as her vision finally returned, she could see that he was pale, sturdily built, and only just taller than she was. And, even more disconcerting, he seemed wholly unconcerned to find her there--as if he sought her out intentionally. She didn’t know what to make of it, which only served to make her angrier.

She pulled her bow-string taught, as if to loose her arrow, and barked at him, “Stop! Come no closer!”

[Drumheller]

Sometimes in order to prevent something from happening one had to be prepared to kill.

That wasn’t to say that he, the half-orc named Drumheller Ironfist wanted to have to engage in said action, but what one wanted to do and what one had to do, where as far apart is the land of Dheathain was to the moon. He understood that, had understood that for nigh five years now.

Mistress Creya Anfhorlann had stated that she had heard that slavers might come for the she Fae, as several flame castes wanted to study her foretelling, and would pay handsomely for her being brought to them, alive and otherwise unharmed. That was why he was currently camouflaged, vail up, bow and arrows in hand, currently perched up in one of Dheathain’s many giant red trees, waiting for the slavers to show, watching their intended quarry.

Both whom, and the bird that was her companion, seemed oblivious to his presence.

That was how it was supposed to be. His father, Gods bless his spirit, had trained him in the art of ranging, and he would not do wrong by the orc, even if he was an unwanted offspring.

It was on his third survey of the area that he first started to notice the ripples in arcane energies that spoke of Tap manipulation. The expanding auras of vermilion and topaz flowing outward like a fountain telling him that a doorway was beginning to form. Someone was ‘porting’ in, and not minding they were broadcasting to do it.

the Scales have a mage, that could be troublesome.

Fortunately, the innate magical character of the tree Drumheller was perched in would mask his personal aura enough that anyone searching for it would easily miss him. Not that his aura was particularly worth noticing at any rate, he was not a shaman yet after all. Shaman or no, Drumheller new at once that the being that stepped out of that doorway was well beyond anything he could handle.

It may have looked like a he man, but clearly it wasn’t.

No being Drumheller Ironfist had ever encountered radiated arcana like this one did. Not even demons. Clearly he was outclassed, and there was little he could do about it. His mongrel brain churned out possible explanations for the being’s presence at a dozen a breath, but most of them weren’t good, or pleasant.

It was possible that this ‘thing’ was not associated with either the she Fae or the slavers.

Right and he was a Maia in disguise

Still the beings movements weren’t as of yet hostile, so it was possible that he did indeed have no business with the Fae. Three Tap lines crossed through this spot, meaning that it could serve as an attraction for mystical beings. If one was going to port in, this would be a good spot to do it in.

Still his movements were taking him in the she fae’s direction.

As much as he didn’t want to, as difficult as it was, Drumheller took his gaze off the being that was now heading towards his primary target of defense and scanned the area again. It appeared that the not man was alone, as if this ‘thing’ needed assistance given the power it seemed to possess.

Drumheller was ready to engage the not man, if situation required it, even if he really would rather not have to.

[Breaker]

In the time it took to spread his arms wide with empty hands splayed, Cronen considered three different methods of killing the Fae, and three others for merely disarming her. He had no desire to engage her, in fact he sought a peaceful interaction - but years of experience and training had honed him into a walking weapon. Breaker could kill like a sharp knife cuts; without thought or hesitation.

On this occasion he did think however, and smiled at the Fae, hoping she could see well enough in the dark to interpret his friendly demeanor. His hazel eyes saw more than a normal man's might by day, and he felt somewhat awed by the Fae's appearance. He had encountered one of the Dheathanian natives before, but that particular Fae could scarcely have looked more different from the archer aiming an arrow at his heart. She'd been petite, almost child-sized, and appeared human enough to blend with the population of Radasanth where they'd met. The Fae with the bow had a bluish tinge to her skin that glowed softly, hair locks so thick they blended with the tree branches behind her, and a crown of antlers seated above her upright goat's ears. In Radasanth, many might consider her a monster.

She's beautiful, although certainly not what I expected. Cronen cast back into the depths of his memory, the memory that contained entire lives of men and women who had live long ago. After a moment's focus he found the words he wanted, and spoke in a broken but comprehensible version of the Fae's native tongue.

"I mean you no harm my lady... I am a peaceful traveller seeking guidance." There was something familiar about the arcane aura that had pulled him in the Fae's direction. The signature seemed similar to that of the Diviner who had sent him here. Breaker took a deep breath and allowed his mind to drift. He hadn't noticed right away because of the Fae's presence, but the power of the Eternal Tap felt especially... vibrant here. Josh knew of the magical meridians that traversed the globe, and the potential their intersections provided. It seemed the Diviner had sent him to crossroads of two, perhaps even three of the Tap's arteries.

Did the fortune teller send me here for the magic of the place, or to meet this Fae... or both? He wondered, eyeing the archer thoughtfully.

[Jarilo]

In the weighty, eternal, seconds-long stillness that followed her show of bravado, the stranger only spread his hands in a gesture of peace and stepped closer. His quiet power engulfed her like an ocean, driving her ears to flatten against the bulk of her deadlocks as she was instantly overwhelmed. She was an infant, she realized, standing in defiance against a giant.

How ridiculous her bravado had been, she chided herself... how utterly infinitesimal…

But then, as his flattering words lapsed back into silence, she remastered herself and replied in her native tongue as well, with a voice full of smoke and silver, “If peaceful you are, then so shall I be.” And she proved the truth of her word, immediately, by disarming herself.

Wotan rejoined her, then, and his familiarity instantly calmed her. She reached up to stroke his feathers in tacit appreciation, and he cawed at her as soothingly as his gravelly voice would allow. Together, they continued to watch the stranger before them, both tentatively curious to see what would happen next. With her free hand, though, Jarilo reached behind her to touch the tree she stood in front of, as if she were worried it would disappear. And maybe she was.

After all, only fools forgot their escape routes.

However, neither she nor Wotan had presence of mind to perceive the other stranger at all--that mysterious, watcher in the woods.

[Drumheller]

Purplish blue orbs watched the exchange with a critical eye. He did not like how quickly this being had approached the Fae. He didn’t like the cool confident baring that this man that was not a man held. He did not like that the Fae had put away her means of defense. Of course there was little about this situation that he did like .

Was this ‘thing’ that wore the guise of a human a threat, was it , was it?

Gods help him he didn’t know. His actions said that he meant no harm, but what did that mean precisely. Perhaps he was sent a head to lull the she fae into a false since of security, making it easier for his companions to capture her. That seemed unlikely, but not entirely impossible.

With quick precise movements the half-orc had arrows stowed in their case with the others, and looped the bow back through the rear straps of part of his lode baring network. This done, he grasped several lengths of Sun King Vine – so called for the flowers that looked like little crowns and glowed as brightly as though they were miniature suns – He slid down the tree as quickly as though he were rappelling, which in truth he was. Turning his head right and then left to a count of five, he still caught glimpses of the Fae and the not-man that were in the midst of the clearing, as he rotated round the tree. Using his foot, his good foot, since he couldn’t get the leverage with the other in this position, he broke his descent about at the tree’s mid-point, and grabbing a few of the thick Akutccha vines – each one as thin as string, but together stronger than any rope – he swung over to an even Taller Dheathain Nut tree, located in the interior of a cluster of urucum and Phala abhinaya, plants, the former called passion fruit in the trade tongue, that were as tall as many a pine back home.

He needed a better vantage point and this stately living pillar would grant him one.

Given what he could perceive, the more he considered the issue, he did not believe that this not-man was associated with the Scale Caste bounty hunters under Dnash Traa. That did not mean however that he still didn’t consider the being a risk to the Fae and himself. Present evidence was not sufficient for allowing him to move beyond the beginnings of the rational disjunction of either-or, or both-and, meaning his youthful mind had to consider both with equal vigor.

I give thanks to the unseen gods of the heavens for granting me the richness of the land that the energies there of will serve to cloak my movements until the time of striking. I thank the ancient mistress of knowledge and her brother the primordial father of the land for this moment in which I find myself. Here now your servant as he prepares himself for battle, and here him too old master of conflict, grant his form strength and speed and his mind keenness so that his enemies might know the terror of your servant…

Up and up he climbed, with all the skill of a lizard, finding foot and hand holds that would seem invisible to the untrained eye, and as he scaled that aged specimen of Flora, prayer and rational activities in equal measure remained fully engaged in his mind.

[Breaker]

Having sparked at least a small glimmer of trust with the Fae, Breaker relaxed his arms. He ran a hand though close cropped brown hair and grated the day's worth of stubble on his chin. He cinched both arms behind his back and used his fists to crack his spine. Travelling across the planet in a single step gave him aches sometimes. Josh kept up the calm, reassuring smile as he gazed at the Fae's belt pouch. To his eyes it glowed with an arcane signature similar to the crystal ball in the Diviner's tent. It seemed fitting that one fortune teller would send him to another.

"This may sound strange," Breaker explained in the Fae's native tongue, finding his way around the words with surprising dexterity, "but I came here tonight looking for you. I think... I believe I came here to ask you for a reading." He pointed at the pouch strapped to the Fae's belt. "If there's a fee, I'll gladly pay--" Cronen cut off at a sharp sound from a nearby tree. Every fiber of his body quivered like a coiled spring as he listened, and watched, and waited.

Nothing. Or more likely, some sort of treebound animal had lost its footing for the space of a second. Even the squirrels in Corone were subject to clumsiness when they thought no one was watching. Cronen shook his head and chuckled. I'm just excited to be on the right path, he told himself, trying to explain away the feeling of impending turmoil.

Although he had crossed many leagues in a single step and would do so again in an hour when Jake ported in to pick him up, Josh sensed the entire process would be but a pinprick on the map of his journey to godliness.

[Jarilo]

This human... This man that radiated with so much power, who could speak her native tongue with ease, had stepped into a portal made in who knows where, just to ask her for a reading…?

Before she could truly process this, though, she was distracted--just like the human was--by the distinct sound of something moving in the trees. Steely eyes narrowed and her ears flicked forwards as she attempted to suss the noisemaker out, but he/she was too careful and the dark was too thick. Even Wotan was having difficulty. However, unlike the strange man before her, she was more acquainted with the forest. She knew, for instance, that whatever made that sound--while skilled in his/her own right--was not indigenous. It was too big. It made too much of a racket, despite how subtle the racket was. Thus, unlike the strange man before her, she could not play the noise off… but nor could she attack.

Fine, she thought to herself, stay hiding in your tree.

She would not waste her arrows on what she could not see, but she still had her flute. The fact that said flute was still over by the rock Wotan had chosen earlier was of no consequence. It would be easy enough to retrace her steps. She grinned again, like splintering ice, and refocused on her first interloper.

“A reading,” she repeated, this time in tradespeak. She was finished listening to this stranger’s use of her language. She reached up and ran a finger down Wotan’s chest, asking him playfully, “What do you think, old crow? Should we humor this stranger?”

Wotan squawked loudly and flapped his wings, making laughter tumble from Jarilo’s lips, like the first whisper of spring in the frozen air.

She whirled away from her protective tree then, to dance past the stranger towards where her flute lay abandoned in the ghostly grass. “Come along, then,” she sang to him, over her shoulder, “for a reading you shall have.” But her thoughts still lingered on her problems: would the second stranger reveal him/herself and attack before she got to her flute? would the magic be strong enough? would it give them enough time to escape? would the human male let her escape?

… or was all of this meant to happen?

[Drumheller]

It was a question worth asking. Of all there, she, and she alone, held some glimpse of what the future held in store. She, who was called Jarilo, whose core held kinship with wood and plants and with growing things, had been given a sign of future happenings and portentous events.

Still, this truth to the she fae’s reality had not altered her current wants for knowing.

Momentary wants are fickle things. At that moment Jarilo wanted the third person present to reveal himself to her. At that present time, she wanted him to expose himself for her inspection and query. The present momentary wants are often seen as less than desirable when perceived through the better light of hindsight, or at least they are oft so.

If she could have seen him at that moment, it would have raised more questions than it would have answered. If by some miraculous power she could have spied him in that towering Dheathain nut tree: viewed him with a form of continuous perception bypassing the intervening barriers of vines and boughs; the curtains formed by mosses and webs of Sawdonia; through leaves and spines of a dozen myriad shapes and frames and sizes; then she would have observed him fixedly gazing off to her right, towards the west of her position. What is more, if the Gods had found it fit to fully enlighten her through the ability to gaze upon the mauled youthful visage of Drumheller Ironfist hidden beneath studded leather veil and helm, then she would readily identify his tusked mouth screwed up in the hard solemnity that was the epitome of concern.

She of course could see none of this, which served to be simultaneously bane and blessing both for Drumheller, if for different reasons.

If she could see what he was seeing at that moment she would understand his dread.

A thousand yards as the raven flies.

Back at the holding he had received complements, once even by his father, on the accuracy in which he could judge distances. He was always accurate within half an inch of the mark. It, like the fact that the Fae could not see his current location, was a blessing and a curse. It wasn’t just the fact that the party included sixteen armed-to-the-teeth Drakari, it was what they had with them that truly concerned him.

‘An Iteoir Eid Spuaic,’ he silently mouthed.

That was what the Fae called them, or Spell eater in the language of trade, and the term was, from what he knew, very accurate. He would have spotted the bull sized insect sooner, if not for the intersection of the Tap lines, whose presence was currently hiding the Fae and the not man from the beast senses. Otherwise, the Spuaic would be making a mad dash, eight legs as big around as a horse’s and twice as powerful, right towards the pair. Of course that same barrier, of a sort, had cloaked the monster as well, as if the Fae knew the thing was there, she’d no doubt be running for her life. She wouldn’t of course unless she moved close to the river. He would have marked the creature from several thousand yards away just by its aura alone, if not for that intervening barrier.

It was taller than a banner and wider than a granary’s door.

That’s when it hit him, it wasn’t just the Iteoir Eid Spuaic’s aura he was seeing, but tiny secondary emanations from the Tap lines were being sucked off and were making their way towards the beast, which was absorbing them into itself, or at least that’s how it appeared.

Miniscule sparkles, like tiny fireflies of emerald with flickering silver edges floated like snowflakes towards the creature, amassing into long streamers that seemed to become unraveled as they got ever closer to the Iteoir Eid Spuaic. The flaming silver edges being ripped away first, followed by the splitting of the emerald into long spirals of the reddish-brown of Carnelian and the pale grayish green associated with Celadon, with long streamers of the most vivid pink he had ever seen. From this vantage point, far above the myriad aromas cast off by a hundred different kinds of florae, he could catch the burst of heady supercharged too concentrated air that comes before the lightning storm.

Despite his innate curiosity, he only watched this process for a moment, as he quickly ascertained the armaments of the sixteen Drakari – four bowman, four spearmen, and eight with long clubs, almost as long as a spear and with heavy iron egg-shaped heads, as big around as both of Drumheller’s fists put together ; with all of them armed with chopping short swords, dart guns, throwing axes, and gods above knew how many knives – as well as count the seven Zytala fire beetles the beast carried.

Now that he found the drivers, the bush beaters, those that would serve as the source of the she Fae’s flight, where was the rest of the company they would be forcing her towards? Where was the ambush, the true trap, where was the net?

Where was it?

Obviously some change would be forced onto the Iteoir Eid Spuaic he thought, as his eyes once more combed the lush landscape below. All was calm, which surely it would not be if the Iteoir Eid Spuaic and its pack of Zytala were hunting. Yet his brain screamed at him that something was wrong with this situation. Something beyond the fact that he needed to find the rest of the Drakari.

He could hear in his mind’s ear the breaths adding up as he scrutinized the jungle that spread out from the clearing and its sliver of stream. They needed to be close enough to catch the She fae, and adequately spread out to anticipate if she somehow bolted away in a direction the ‘drivers’ hadn’t anticipated, but not so close as they might startle her by accident.

Still his mind couldn’t stop chasing after this deeply rooted sense of wrongness on the locales fauna. This was an apex predator, even if not hunting, one wanted to keep a goodly distance from an apex predator.

focus you stupid half-breed.

He mentally chided himself, he could figure out why the animals weren’t behaving like animals later.
Where were they?

Where were they?

Where were they!

The answer to the nagging question regarding the oddity of the wildlife’s’ behavior dawned on him simultaneously with his finding his target. Well, at least part of it. One quad was stationed about four hundred yards southeast of the road the Fae had traveled by. The remaining three quads were spaced evenly approximately a hundred yards apart of each other, drawn up in a ‘hook’ that could easily shift locations depending on which way their prey moved. Of course, they couldn’t cover every possible position, but they didn’t expect the fae to head towards the bush beaters, now did they. Naturally, the trick was to set off the trap before the bush beaters started bush beating.

Still four hundred yards was close, well within bowshot if one was using the right kind of bow, and was a good shot. he would need to engage that quod second. He would have to deal with the mage’s meddling first.

It was a mage that was keeping everything peaceful, to be sure, and that mage, wherever he was, wasn’t with the drivers, as the big bug would interfere with his channeling. Still he wasn’t with the various quads either, which meant he was off somewhere else relatively close by.

He would have to take that problem into his plans, but he couldn’t spend the time now trying to search for him.

The other group was steadily closing in and the net was already in place.

Four hundred yards as the arrow flies.

Drawing out his long knife, he began to carve a strange symbol into the tree. A hexagon with a pair of horns would what it would look like to anyone that happened to observe it, with a triangle inside the hexigone, and with three wavy lines that were interconnected in the center.

Peeling off the gloves on his left hand, and slipping it through the loop of one of the many belts that crossed his chest, he pricked his finger until it bled into the wavy lines in the center.

It was while he was climbing down to repeat the process once more, when the accident happened. His foot snapped a bit of vine that had rotted underneath, but appeared to be whole from above, and the noise he made had him grinding his teeth together so hard that he thought himself in danger of cracking them when he regained his composure.

There wasn’t time for him to glance around to see if anyone heard, but the tones of the fae that carried to him – he was to far away now to hear precisely what she said – did not sound alarmed. With all the speed he could bring to bear, given the position he was in, he repeated the action. Then he was working his way down, with all the precision and care his twelve year old form could muster.

fifty… forty nine… forty eight… forty seven… sortie six…

when his count reached one, his own spell, as insignificant as it was would go off, and the level of disruption it would cause, thanks to all three intercepting Tap lines would be considerable.

I was a weapon made from flesh.
By no god was I made.
I was made to seek the enemy, attack the enemy, to kill the enemy…

This was an ancient creed, none knew from whence it came, or who wrote it. Yet, every Black Eyed Clan orcling had been taught it for thousands of years. It had mostly fallen out of practice by the time he had been born, mostly, but not entirely.

if the enemy swings the hook into a blocking position, then use the second triangle of urucum to engage in rapid skirmish fashion
If the enemy attempts to interdict the pair, then…

His mind went through possibilities simultaneously with the constantly shifting countdown, and the remembrances of ancient oaths. It held them all separate and yet as constent as an Alerian Difference Engine.

Having shimmied down the big nut tree to just a couple of feet above where he had originally gained purchase, he pushed off doing a somersault that turned into a flip, all so he could walk upon the vines he had used earlier to gain the tree. He needed to move and move quickly, and atop these vines was the swiftest way. He covered a good twelve meters in like manner, periodically using the protruding limbs of the nearby urucum as support. Then he was upon the forest floor, swiftly moving as silent as a shadow. Stepping over mossy beds, around shrub and urucum and Dheathain nut, as silently as a blanket of mist he moved, his form traversing the distance with steady determinability.

I am the protector you never knew, the faceless, nameless wraithguard standing near to you…
if Trf, then Tzk.
If X, then the negation of Y.
If… then…
If… then…
fifteen… fourteen… thirteen…

He was in position, unseen, unknown, prepared; agile mobile, hostel. He was the guardian ghost. May his charges never know of his labors.