Riding along the shore started furiously, pushing Attila hard to clear the oncoming cat people. He led a few of the others out through the forest line, and only moved slowly enough for them to keep some level of pace for several hundred yards. He was downwind as best he could tell, and clearly out of sight of wherever those silver furred monstrosities had come from. Along the shoreline to the north, clear tracks of a cart and hooves singularly stood apart, the lone fresh and obvious track to guide him on the singular gravel road hugging the coast. Whitevale was well defended; this was the path the other fur-covered things had traveled, no doubt it would be the path of the pirate soldiers that he had just retreated from. First, he had to find the mottled ones.

Looks like we’ve got some hunting to do. Hangover’s cooked, but so am I.

Muddied and tired, he was covered with a natural camouflage of silt and blood, none of which belonged to him. Sweat flowing from his forehead caked an unnatural line of grime about his brow. Looking back at the olive-cloaked rangers, he saw their fatigue and fear worn clearly on long faces.

Poor sons of bitches. Fought like hell, lost their brothers, and had to leave without so much as claiming pelts to use for stoles, pretty souvenirs for their wives. We’re going to get you brave little bastards some cloth before this is said and done.

The ride became smoother, easier, and more steady after a few hard minutes. Morning turned into midday quickly, the bright sun yielding to a wall of clouds to the east, which cooled the group rapidly in their sweat soaked tunics. The road took them through Concordia Forest, where a second batch of rangers listened carefully to their brethren about the approaching force. The day burned quickly, but the men pressed forward, pausing only for short stretches and moments to feed the horse.

A few claps of distant thunder rang out to the travelers from the water as they moved northward, enjoying that familiar odor of ozone and cleanliness that he usually associated with combat. Wiping his face clean, he gazed ahead, now just hours outside of Radasanth. Based on his recent brutalities, entering town was not an option. Hunger biting at him, Storm nibbled at a loaf of bread he had packed, taking a few fresh pulls of brandy from a flask he kept close hold. In a less than wholly magnanimous gesture, the wizard shared the bread with the archers. The rangers probably had water, or something wet, he estimated.

Ahead of him, a single large silhouette silently cut from the north. Within moments, Storm recognized the half-elf, a man that last became famous for betraying the mage and escaping with a fortune wrapped in a singular envelope. His hands in clear view, the thickly muscled scoundrel didn’t appear to come with violent intentions, but Veritas motioned for the men about him to stay at the ready, as their bows quickly found spots in their off-hands.

You mother*cker. I thought you were dead.

“Ebivoulya!? Holy shit, I thought you were dead. Hell, for a while there I hoped you were dead. Did the devils give you back to us?”

"I didn't give them a choice," the man said with a smirk.

There could have been kinder greetings, he supposed, and he saw on the face of the half-elf a sense of knowing resignation. Was this coyness, or outright deception from Ebivoulya? Either way, the electromancer clung to a healthy dose of skepticism, alongside hope for what could be a powerful ally. There was also some acknowledged hypocrisy to the words the rider spoke; no one could accuse Storm of a lifetime of heroism.

“Walk with us, and let’s move quickly. Not sure where you think you’re going, but cancel plans. The south coast just got swarmed by a pack of trained, overgrown housecats. Scary and strange as shit, but these stupid asses were brave enough to stand up to ‘em – at least for a while. Lots of wounded, angry pussies likely coming our way.”

Incapable of resisting the pun, the aging wizard smiled proudly at his juvenile reference. The powerhouse elf vibrated gently, stifling a laugh. Together, Storm led the tired rangers further north, satisfied to see the hybrid human/elf pivot to join them.

“For the record, I still owe you an ass-kicking, but the time for that will come. Those blue coated bastards probably won’t be far behind us, and I’ll need as many bad men as I can get to deal with them.”