The Price of Freedom ~ Part II

[Letho]

By the time Izvilvin made his sudden reappearance, the trio was back inside the singed house, scavenging for anything that might’ve remained usable after the arson. Sienna and Edward were mostly bystanders though, loitering around the depressive interior while Letho sifted through the ashes. Primarily, the Marshal searched for some weapons – his entire arsenal was confiscated in Gisela after he was decimated by the Scarlet Brigade soldier – and so far he found only the heavyset composite bow. It was stashed away in a massive iron chest, where Myrhia’s weapons should’ve rested as well, but her spear, her twin daggers and her leather bracers were missing. His full plate mail, forged out of tough Cillu glass from the land of Fallien, was there though, but Letho couldn’t don it, not with a broken arm. Instead, he stuffed it in a rather large duffel bag, together with some extra clothes and a peculiar, ancient-looking key that he didn’t recollect acquiring anywhere. He was in the process of inspecting the unfamiliar key under the faint light of a petroleum lamp when the Drow uttered his name.

All three of them recoiled at the voice of the intruder, but only Sienna was jittery and wary enough to brandish her rifle, lining it up with the man as dark as the night that swallowed the landscape. She remembered the dark elf as a member of Letho’s posse, and needless to say, there was little fondness in her eyes. “You know this Drow?” Edward asked, examining Izvilvin suspiciously and keeping his hands at his belt, ready to draw metal if need be. There were many who wanted the Rangers dead and not all of them wore an Empire patch on their arms.

The tension was prominent, but only for the duration of several seconds that Letho needed to acknowledge the identity of the grim elf. Izvilvin maybe wasn’t a best friend – or a friend at all – but the Marshal heard the full report regarding the “Gisela Massacre” from Christina and others that had the misfortune of being caught up in it. And he knew that the Drow sided with the rioters, that he was one of the good guys. How he managed to escape imprisonment was quite a mystery, but it wasn’t one that Letho was keen on solving at this particular moment.

“Yes, he’s alright. He fought with the rioters back in Gisela,” Letho said, lowering Sienna’s rifle gently before approaching the dark elf. There was still some old beef between them, he knew, that drew roots from that one time when the Marshal locked Izvilvin in the cage for insubordination. But according to the Drow’s words and tone, it was water under a bridge. Letho’s mobile left hand clamped the shoulder of the dark elf in a gesture of greeting. “Good to see you make it, Izvilvin.”

Realizing that the white-haired elf probably couldn’t understand him, Letho continued in what he hoped was comprehensible Drow. “Christina in Underwood,” he spoke, letting go of the elf’s shoulder before gesturing to himself and the callous-faced Edward. “We go there now. Fight the...uhm...” The word for the empire or bastards or anything else that befitted their current enemies evaded the Marshal. Luckily for him, his veteran companion seemed to have much more experience in speaking foreign languages.

“...those responsible for the deaths of the innocents. Our headquarters are in Underwood. You are welcome to join our cause,” Edward spoke, his face tough and stern, still pertaining a portion of incredulity.

“Yes. Come on, there are many miles to Underwood.”

A gale welcomed them as they stepped out of the manor, slapping their faces with the combination of chill and moisture, but aside from its whistling sound and the tapping of the rain drops on any coherent surface, the night seemed dead. Farther down the road, the crowns of the weeping willows danced to the tune of the wind, their long thin branches moving in wavelike fashion. Their horses were restless, miserable, as tired as their riders of being sodden and ridden down the mushy roads. But once the trio climbed into the saddles, they snorted and lifted their heads readily, as if on some subconscious level they too knew that there was still a lot of ground to cover. The acrimonious teen blonde, whose inner child fell victim to the devices of the Empire, looked up towards the man that was once the embodiment of everything good in the world.

“You coming?” Letho asked her.

“Can you promise me vengeance?” she retorted with a question of her own, her pale face drenched by the torrent of fat drops that slipped down her cheeks like tears.

“No. I can promise you a fight, not its outcome. Will that give you satiation?” the Marshal asked, extending his healthy arm towards Sienna. She didn’t accept it instantly; her once beautiful face was contorted in a frown that made her both less and more attractive somehow.

“It will suffice,” she finally decided, shouldering her rifle and climbing into the saddle behind Letho.

***

It took them the entire night and most of the following day to reach Underwood. Edward took them down the paths that even Letho had no knowledge of, navigating through the dense forest unerringly, but it was still a lengthy and utterly uncomfortable journey. The rain found it appropriate to lower its intensity to a mild drizzle, but by then the four already had a thick canopy of leaves above their heads as protection against the elements. Twice they encountered rangers that kept to the trees and remained invisible until the very last moment, but the middle-aged ranger took them past unharmed by speaking the password to his comrades. They seemed better organized then Letho originally anticipated, and it was almost enough to spark optimism within his negative mind.

Almost. Because the deeper they ventured into Concordia, the stronger was the pull in the opposite direction. He was distancing himself from Myrhia, and even though he practically didn’t have a say in the matter, it didn’t prevent him from feeling like he was abandoning her. Tormented by this treachery, Letho, who was never the most talkative man, remained withdrawn into himself even further. Luckily for him, none of his companions seemed too eager to palaver. Izvilvin had a language barrier that he preferred not to cross too often. Edward was focused on getting them through the forest. Even Sienna, usually chatty and filled with questions, was locked in her own world. For a long while now she wanted to get close to Letho, she dreamed of being the position she was right now, her hands embracing him, his body pressed against her. She couldn’t even imagine that now that the moment finally occurred, she had to restrain herself from stabbing him in the back.

The double wooden palisades of the Concordia capitol were a welcome sight. They were just the first line of defense, standing before and after a deep moat. Last time the Marshal visited Underwood, the moat was as dry as gunpowder, but the last time he visited, Corone wasn’t caught in a civil war. Beyond the outer fence were mostly homesteads and small farms, but instead of farmers and stock, armed men patrolled the proximity. Windows were boarded up, fences reinforced with wooden spikes, turning the once quaint suburb into a warzone waiting for the assailants. Beyond this first defensive ring were the first and only real stone walls of the city, encompassing the core of Underwood. The ramparts themselves were rather unremarkable, twice as short and thrice as thin as those of Gisela, with most of the mortar falling off. It was rather clear the protecting Underwood wasn’t nearly as important as preventing the troops from actually reaching the heart of the forest. It was a viable tactic, Letho thought; in this war, Concordia was their greatest ally.

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin didn't try to hide his relief when Letho said Christina was in Underwood. He'd been confident enough that she was among allies, but it was good to get some confirmation. The Drow would not have felt comfortable leaving the supportive blonde in the hands of men who would harm her.

When Edward spoke, his dialect a very accurate take on Drow, Izvilvin let a small smile creep onto his face. A simple nod sufficed to show his support, and soon they were outside. The warrior climbed up on his horse and rode off after the others, he and his midnight steed nearly invisible if not for his shock of white hair.

Over the night and into the next day, it occured to him how easily he had gained such admiration for the woman, and it made him feel foolish. How many times had he felt the cold sting of a woman's scorn? Only thrice since leaving Alerar had he helt an attraction to a human female, and all of those times, he'd been hurt. Once, with Rheawien, he'd been killed. Izvilvin recalled the feel of cold iron in his belly quite well, but no more than he did the uncaring glare in the half-elf's brown eyes.

It was a lesson he should never forget, but it pained Izvilvin to think that he'd have to shut himself off completely. After all, sometimes things ended up well. He had a good friend in Ira Shinkara, and they would have never come so far if he hadn't made the decision to trust her.

Christina was a trustworthy woman. The Drow had seen it in her eyes, heard it in her voice, but he had felt the exact same way about Rheawien. He would be natural and follow his instincts, Izvilvin decided, for that was as well as he could do.

He was able to spot the rangers as they grew closer, his eyes piercing the darkness. Edward seemed to have the situation well in hand, however, so Izvilvin said nothing. The night seemed to crawl into day, and he found himself eyeing Letho far too often. It seemed odd to have to kill a man he otherwise would fight alongside, but Izvilvin knew it had to be done.

*******

Their horses slowed to a trot and then to a stop when the group reached Underwood's wooden gates. Edward approached as Izvilvin looked carefully along the thick brown planks, looking for gleaming eyes in the cracks. The bridge that allowed passage over the moat was down, and likely only rose when enemies were approaching. He appreciated the simple, effective types of defense.

"Hail," Edward called when a face peered out from up top, a stern look painted upon it that did not go away even when Edward was recognized. The human's eyes went to Izvilvin, but showed to outrageous surprise. He then nodded and disappeared again.

A moment passed before the wooden gates creaked slowly open, and Izvilvin could see inside the town. It was populated even in the rain, even in the midst of an empire's rise. Something in the Drow's heart stirred, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

They made their way toward the heart of Underwood, where the warrior figured that they would meet with the leaders of the insurgants. Izvilvin felt like he was surrounded by enemies, which was probably truer than he thought. He put himself in the mind of a rebel.

[Christina Bredith]

A burst of morning light through the window of her room burned at Christina’s eyelids and roused her from her deep sleep, causing her to crinkle the bridge of her nose and draw her arm over her face to protect herself from the sun’s unrelenting gaze. When she was finally cogent enough to get a sense of her bearings, she realized that it was not an early morning sun that greeted her, but indeed a late one; it looked to be almost noon by her reckoning. She could also not remember why she was in this bedroom, wrapped in blankets – particularly because this was the first night she had spent in Underwood, and she didn’t even know her way to the bedchambers even now.

I guess I fell asleep outside, she thought with knot-browed embarrassment. She was still dressed, so that supported that theory. The woman pressed a neatly-polished hand to her forehead and winced again to fight off the last remnants of drowse. She was alone in the room, though it was clearly made for more than one person; as the only woman present among the congregation of Rangers right now, she had the cozy wooden space to herself.

Languidly, Christina swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, pulling herself out from beneath the woollen blanket in the process. She had that icky feeling one gets from sleeping in one’s clothes, but there was little she could do about it, since the only other clothes available to her were nightclothes purchased in town. She would just have to struggle through. I wonder if any of the boys made coffee.

But Christina had no sooner grabbed her sword-belt from the nearby dresser than one of the Rangers trotted up the hallway to catch her. “Marshal Stormcrow’s returned,” the man announced. His black hair was just long enough to rustle as he jerked his head in the direction of the main street. “I was told to come see if you were awake. Everyone’s to assemble to greet him.”

The blonde tilted her head and looked away, arbitrarily focusing on a corner of the room while she fastened her belt and searched her mind. Stormcrow. He was the one who led the group that saved them. Now that she thought of it, he had disappeared on the way back. She had just been too busy to notice. “No time to pamper myse~lf?” she complained sweetly before degrading into a yawn. While she covered her mouth, Christina nodded slowly. “Okay, okay, I’m coming.”

Well, at least the good Marshal had the courtesy to let me sleep, she thought jovially as she proceeded down the narrow hallway, a few steps behind her Ranger companion. She paid little thought to where Edward had run off to in the first place; he was the leader of this group so no doubt he was checking on one of the other Concordian villages. Now their bold leader had returned, and as an honorary Ranger Christina had to follow protocol and all that. If there was one thing she could do well, it was stand still and look pretty.

It turned out that the shaft of sunlight that woke her up came by chance alone – outside a dull drizzle fell, and the golden orb made its presence known only in small patches where the clouds mercifully relented. As much as Christina hated the rain, she had not had the chance to even brush her hair that morning, so a little natural styling would suffice. The raven-haired Ranger – who she noted was built like a stallion, and very good for the riding, if-you-know-what-she-means – led her through the lifeless crowd. Not one of Underwood’s citizens wore a smile; then again, why should they? The day was dark, for more reasons than just the weather.

But a few minutes later, when he and Christina arrived at the gathering site, at least one cheerful voice parted the rainy skies. “Izzy! Letho!” The voice was heard before her form was seen, quite easily amidst the town’s silence, and she had to slither through the front line of Rangers to get to them. The gathering was not large, as most of the Rangers in Underwood were patrolling and had more important things to do than this, but those that didn’t had assembled to greet their leader. The men had formed ranks on either side of the main street leading into the city; it looked like a procession fit for a prince. Christina could hardly have cared less about Edward, to be honest, but his traveling companions were a sight for sore eyes.

The woman rushed up to both of them, smiling brightly; if she could have leaped up onto their horses and hugged them, it’s likely that she would have done just that. She even had to refrain from jumping around too much for fear of frightening their steeds. Still, body language aside, her excitement was evident. “Oh, I thought I should never see you again!” The comment was obviously directed at both of them from the way her silver eyes danced between. Izvilvin probably still couldn’t understand a word she was saying, for all Christina knew, but that had never stopped her from conversing with him before.

“Enough,” the rusty-haired Arin spoke. He and two other leaders of the Underwood Contingent were standing front and center to greet Edward and his traveling companions. The man’s voice was quiet, almost fatherly but not reprimanding, and yet bulged with importance. “There is much to discuss.” He stepped aside to allow them passage. “Do you bring any news from the north? And who…” Arin fixed his forest-green eyes on Izvilvin and Sienna, looking perhaps a bit sceptical – “are your companions?”

It was only then that Christina noticed the gun-toting chicky riding at the group’s rear. She looked vaguely familiar, perhaps, but the bell didn’t ring clearly enough to sharpen the blonde’s memory. In either case, she had to admit that Arin was right. There was an unfortunate amount of bore to be muddled through that day, but at least the presence of Christina’s former companions would make it a little more bearable.

((So, I suppose it's best left to Letho to carry us through such discussions. He knows what's going on best of all, after all. ^^))

[Letho]

After practically spitting his rejection into the face of his liberators a day ago, Letho didn’t expect a warm welcome in the den of the rebellious Rangers. Such harsh words had a way of spreading through the ranks like a bad odor and they became particularly potent when there was some truth behind them. By now, the Marshal was fairly certain that he’d be portrayed as both a coward and an ingrate, but if there were some who thought of him as such, they concealed their disdain rather well. Not that Letho particularly cared about their heart’s content. The fact of the matter was that if Myrhia didn’t get locked behind Gisela walls and if his home hadn’t been burned down, Letho would be on his way for the closest port, hoping for fair winds that would take him and his beloved away from the tumultuous Corone. It was easy to play the heedless hero when you had nothing to lose. But when your life started to gain worth not only in your own eyes but also in the eyes of the others, chivalry took the back seat for survival.

However, once Christina came running towards them, all smiling and beamy, Letho couldn’t fight off the guilt that awoke within him. She was with him since the beginning of this madness, obeying his orders, finding reliance in him, sometimes even looking at him with those peculiar argent eyes of hers with a touch of admiration. And in the end she got to witness the selfish side of him. But just like the rest of the troops that lined up to greet them, there was no scorn on her face.

“You did?” Letho responded, ignoring the rigorous bronze-haired ranger and waiting for Sienna to dismount before he did the same. His fractured arm contributed to making the simple motion look almost clumsy. “This is the gathering place of outcasts. Where else would people like us go?” He spiced his words up with a smirk, a barely noticeable one that creased his hard face as his good hand touched her shoulder in a gesture of greeting. “It’s good to see you.”

“Marshal Ravenheart, I think we wasted enough time waiting for you,” Arin spoke, eager to cut this reunion short and get back to dealing with much more important issues. Edward agreed with him, but perhaps not with his manners. He was known to be a hard man, but Arin took hard to a whole new level where there seemed to be nothing but duty. That’s why Edward decided to give the stern ranger a short debriefing before proceeding.

“There are no news to bring from the north but the ill ones, Arin, you should’ve known that by now,” Edward responded to his comrade, patting the neck of his mount before it was led away towards the stables. “I have brought reinforcements. We ran into these two while...” The man paused, obviously reluctant to disclose what truly happened at the Willow Manor, looking towards the uncanny trio and the blonde misfit. “Well, suffice to say that we ran into them and they have joined our cause.”

“It’s a sad day when we get to call a black-skin and a green lass reinforcements,” Arin said. There wasn’t much to be read from his conservative, soldier-like posture, but his eyes spoke out, portraying both doubt and dislike, as they always did. “Come, others are waiting in the meeting room.”

“Good,” Edward said before turning to Letho. “The rest of the Marshals are waiting for us.”

Never an avid fan of reunifications, the bearded swordsman broke away from his companions with a nod before proceeding after the two imposing rangers. Compared to him, both looked so callous, so much more experienced, that it made him feel younger then his actual age. And that was quite a feat given the fact that most things and occurrences nowadays made Letho feel dreadfully old. He followed the pair through the tall double doors that led into the keep’s foyer. Unlike Radasanth’s or even Gisela’s citadels, Underwood’s seemed much more rustic, with simple floor tiles made of unhewn stone covered with simple greenish carpets that lacked the meticulous ornaments. The walls were mostly bare, their dull gray color looking even more gloomy under the natural illumination of the cloudy day that entered through the high arched windows.

“You three wait here. This meeting is for Marshals only,” Arin said to Letho’s comrades as they reached the end of the long hallway, once again finding subtlety unnecessary and speaking his words as an order. It took the strength of both arms of the pair of lightly-armored guards to open another set of massive doors, letting the three rangers enter what Letho reckoned was a ball room once upon a time. However, instead of prancing royalty with powdered faces and gay musicians with frolicky tunes, only grim faces greeted them, gathered around a heavyset table made of polished wood. There were eight of them standing around the collection of unfurled maps, snapped out of their debate by the entry of the trio. Most of them Letho didn’t know, but then again, chances were that most of them haven’t known about each other until just recently. Each Marshal was in charge of his own county and it took something drastic to cross the boundaries of their allotted region. Like a war.

Distinguishing himself from the rest by being the tallest and probably the fairest was Tenniel, an elf with golden hair dangling around his face in a series of tiny braids. He was the only one not dressed in shades of dark green and black, his ornate robes weaved with gold looking like something that befitted a wizard, and one from a wealthy family no less. “Ah, nice to see the three of you finally decided to join us. Perfect timing, if I do say so myself. We were just discussing the definition of a forlorn situation,” the pale-faced elf said with a smarmy smile that seemed unbecoming given the current situation.

“You should be discussing how to get out of one instead,” Edward said, approaching the table and pouring himself a cup of wine.

“But that’s what the predicament is all about. If it’s a forlorn situation, then there is no way out,” Tenniel said, his smug smile still on, annoying all present. Not Edward though; the two were a tandem long enough now for the veteran ranger to realize that his comrade would probably go to his grave jesting.

“Enough of these antics,” Arin put an end to the exchange. “We’re all here. It’s time to decide what we ought to do.”

“That’s just it; there isn’t much that we can do. We barely have enough troops to hold Concordia, let alone campaign towards the rest of Corone,” Tenniel said, his tone sinking towards more serious notes. “A good number of our rangers are still scattered throughout the realm, unaware of what is going on. Even if our birds reach them, it would take them weeks to rendezvous with us here. And by then the Empire will press us from all sides.”

“Then we’ll just have to stop them,” Edward said after downing his cup.

“Stopping them is just the first step. Even if we manage to do that, what then? We don’t have the manpower to pose a constant threat and no supplies to hold our ground for too long.”

“Can we hire some swords?”

“We all saw just how much coinage is there in the treasury. We wouldn’t be able to hire enough to hold one of the outer towns, not against the CAF.”

“We don’t have to pay them,” Arin finally interjected. “We could just draft the locals.”

“No, that is bound to backfire at us,” Edward shook his head. “People are still divided. Hell, most of them don’t care whether Corone is an Empire or a Republic as long as the taxes remain the same.”

“What about Gisela?” Letho’s voice was finally heard. The master swordsman felt rather lost in the company of those that seemed more experienced then him, but he deemed it was time to join the debate.

“What about it?” Arin asked after a period of silence and glances. Edward cast a curious eye towards Letho, thinking he knew why Gisela was mentioned.

“I think we should take it,” he said, rousing a throng of murmurs amongst the Marshals. “Listen, we’re looking at this situation the wrong way. Yes, we have threats from three sides.”

“Four. Jadet is still under the control of the Empire,” Tenniel pointed out.

“Fine, four sides. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. We’re in a way of all their supply lines. They cannot move troops from, let’s say...” Leaning over the surface of the table, Letho made a line across the map, from north to south. “...Radasanth to Serenti without marching through Concordia. They could use ships, yes, but troops moving by sea aren’t a threat to us. It’s just pouring from one cup into the other. Now, we all know that Gisela is the treasury of Corone when it comes to supplies...”

“It also has the highest walls after Radasanth,” Arin pointed out.

“It doesn’t matter. We don’t have to climb the walls. Ever since the massacre, Gisela is a fire waiting to be kindled. All we have to do is rally the locals to our cause and they’ll eat Gisela from the inside. With Gisela under our control, we gain not only the supplies, but we gain the favor of the locals. Not to mention that we effectively break the Empire into two pieces.”

Silence ensued. Edward, who throughout Letho’s speech remained silent with his thinking cap on, was the first one to break it. “Are you proposing this plan because you think it can work or because you want to save your woman from Gisela?”

“Both,” Letho was determined.

“I see,” the experient ranger said, turning to his elf partner. “Tenniel?”

“I don’t know. There are a lot of ifs, a lot of assumptions, a lot of maybes. We need to stop them from overrunning Concordia first.”

“We will.”

[Izvilvin]

((Where's this 'crappy' again?))

Izvilvin was taken aback by how pleased he was to see Christina again, unable to keep a smile from crossing his youthful face. Her silver eyes, enchanting and full of delight from the reunion with her friends, danced back and forth between Izvilvin and the man he needed to kill. The Drow suddenly forgot the weariness of the road and couldn't keep his eyes off her, until a moment went by and he caught himself staring.

A hundred twenty-eight years, and he still couldn't keep himself from eyeing a youthful human blonde. Izvilvin felt he should chastise himself, but then again, Christina Bredith was no mere blonde. She had a magnificence to her that he couldn't describe, an aura that promised an eternity of surprises. The thought made Izvilvin feel a bit too romantic for an assassin, so he tried his best to forget it.

He dismounted the charcoal steed provided by Step, landing nimbly on his feet as if he'd slept twelve hours, strapped on his weapons and gathered the creature's reigns in his hand. He made no strong attempt to hide his joy at seeing Christina -- never had he done such a thing in the first place -- as he approached her.

Izvilvin was at her just as Letho was called away, mimicking the Marshal's physical gesture. He could feel Christina's shoulder under his hand, but did his best not to focus too hard on it before pulling back. "Doing well, Christina," he said, not knowing that to actually make it a question, he needed to pronounce the end of her name higher than he did. The result was a slightly awkward pause, before he nodded forward and followed Letho and the others. His eyes lingered on the man who took his horse, watched his path to see where the stables were, just in case.

The inside of the keep was dark and gloomy, but perhaps it was just the heavy emotion of the place. This was not always a building where war was constantly discussed, Izvilvin knew, and the troubling times had already turned it into the sad place it was. His eyes saw the cracks in every brick, even the hard dirt in between each of those. They pierced the darkness easily and he found it hard to adjust, for his eyes had only recently grown so keen.

When Letho walked through the pair of heavy doors, Izvilvin made after him. Arin's commanding voice hadn't been enough to hammer the information into the Drow. Thankfully, someone grasped him and pulled him back before he got too far inside. Turning he saw Christina, who seemed somewhat amused.

"I'm not going to wait here for him, not when I hunger so," Sienna spoke from behind them both. Izvilvin caught a single word, hunger, and knew what it meant. He looked curiously to Christina.

Sienna headed off in a quick walk before the blonde could add her own input. Izvilvin was somewhat hesitant to let Letho be anywhere beyond earshot, and the Drow was sure he could hear the conversation inside if he strained it, but the rumble of his stomach made up his mind for him.

It was then he noticed the sword at her hip. Even in its scabbard, he could see it was not Rosebite. The warrior realized then that she had not yet claimed it back from the Giselan jail. On a whim, perhaps foolishly, he undid the sheathed Icicle from his hip and held it out to her, feeling the slightest of chills even through the thick leather. It was a beautifully sculpted thing, balanced as well as a dwarven masterworked blade. For her benefit, he could do without it for a time.

"Borrow," he said with a serious smile, before heading off after Sienna.

((Figured the awesome Christina Bredith could handle the food and perhaps some light conversation Feel free to bunny, just try not to make it too obvious Izvilvin has a crush on her, haha.))

[Christina Bredith]

It would take more than a grumpy, steely-jawed Arin to rain on Christina’s parade, and although she was a bit put off by the man’s rough attempt to cut short their reunion, she responded with what could be interpreted as good humour. “Oh, boooo,” she complained, sticking out her tongue at the red-head as he marched off. She had yet to acclimatize to the marshal’s stiff-necked attitude about all things, but Christina was not the type of woman to let such things faze her for long.

Regardless of what boring administrative duties the marshals had ahead of them, Christina was determined to accompany them for as long as she could. Somewhat surprised to have heard Izvilvin speak to her in Common when he greeted her, and evidently without realizing that she might still have been going over his head, she spent the next few minutes regaling him with the events of the last few days which, while not terribly exciting in and of themselves (except for the escape from the iron cage), were the most communication she had had with him in as long. It was good to see her comrades again, even if Letho seemed a bit too distracted to want to talk much.

Unfortunately, the proverbial buck stopped at the doors of a large room in the keep that had been transformed at least temporarily into a base of operations for the Rangers and their resistance. Marshals only, they said. Christina screwed up her lips and rolled her eyes with disdain as the three marshals vanished, and as soon as the doors closed, she was pressing herself up against them with one ear to listen in.

One of the guards at the door was not thrilled about her eavesdropping attempt. “Excuse me, miss, but you can’t—”

Unsurprisingly, Christina silenced him with a furious wave of her hand, loudly whispering, “Shh! It’s not polite to interrupt a lady when she’s having a conversation!” Having, listening in on; the difference was subtle at best to the blonde. But after a few more moments of nothing but barely-audible muffles, she pursed her lips, crinkled her nose in defeat, and pulled away. “Bah. Who makes doors this thick anymore? No consideration for the little people, none at all!”

Christina put her hands on her hips and let out an exasperated sigh. She was about to say something else when Izvilvin noticed her distinct lack of Rosebite, and much to her surprise, handed him his unique short sword as a replacement. She took the blade with wide-eyed shock. “For me…?” His singular instruction confirmed it. The woman smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”

As Sienna was already complaining about her stomach, Christina waved at Izvilvin to follow and then raced after their new companion. When she caught up, Christina beamed over at her. “My name’s Christina, by the way! What’s yours?” Sienna raised a rough eyebrow and looked over at the cheerful warrior without moving her head. She huffed and said nothing.

This did not sit well with Christina. She stopped moving, staring at her blonde counterpart. Her right eyebrow twitched like a little metronome. And... had the air become thicker somehow? Before Sienna had gotten more than a few feet further, Christina straightened her neck and cleared her throat. “My name’s Christina, by the way. What’s yours?”

If a clap of thunder had split the skies at that very moment, it would have paled in comparison to the sudden change in Christina’s tone. It was enough to give pause even to Sienna, who stopped, turned her head over her shoulder, and furrowed her brow. “Sienna,” she said sullenly.

Immediately brightening up again, Christina clapped her hands together and skipped forward to catch up. “Pleased to meet you!” she said with a cheerfully-tilted head, and then skipped forward yet again. When she reached the keep’s entrance, she turned back to face them and ushered them forward. “Come on, let’s go to the Fiddling Fox! They love us there!”

It may not have been evident that Christina should have said, “They love Rangers there,” but once inside the bustling tavern it was impossible to tell the difference. It seemed to be quite the hot spot for Rangers off-duty, and the atmosphere was suitably lively. Plainly-dressed waitresses flitted from table to table like hummingbirds while a house band fiddled in the background, quietly enough to avoid drowning out conversation.

Once they had found a table – Sienna was grudgingly forced to sit with them as the room was too crowded to find a separate sitting – a waitress came around to inquire about their orders. Sienna was impartial, and Izvilvin hadn’t a clue how to read what was even on the menu, so Christina ordered the Ranger’s Special for all three of them: a hearty meal of steak and mixed veggies, with just a touch of beer, perfect for the sturdy Ranger! Christina took the lack of objections for agreement, and the deed was done.

While they waited for their food, Christina made a few attempts at striking up some conversation. The sullen Sienna deflected every one like a pro, often opting to rest her chin in one propped-up hand, roll her eyes, and look away. Christina, who took no real offense, mocked her playfully behind her back, wagging her head haughtily from side to side and sticking out her tongue, and then focused her attention on Izvilvin instead. What a dilemma: one companion who wouldn’t talk to her, and another who couldn’t.

“So… what happened to you after Gisela?” Christina figured she’d at least give it a try. She spoke slowly, enunciating her words and trying at hand gestures when she could think of one that might help clarify what she was saying. Izvilvin had been arrested along with her, but he had been set free long before they were carted off. The blonde didn’t expect much, but she was interested in knowing something of what had become of the Drow.

((One day I'll make a short post, I swear it! I cut it off there for that reason, and because I don't know what Izvilvin would actually (be able to?) tell her, so I'll leave that to you.))

[Letho]

The meeting of Marshals went on for another fifteen minutes and Letho and his ever-aching arm were grateful for the conciseness. Most of that brief time was spent on allotting certain names with platoons and specific assignments, Letho winding up with constantly cross Arin and the mission to make a foothold in the passage through the Comb Mountains. Neither of them was happy with the decision, but the South Passage was too strategically important for disgruntlement and possible dislike to take precedence. The other three sides of the vast Concordia forest also got their pair of Marshals with an exception of Tenniel who was heading out for Akashima as an emissary. Supposedly, Akashima closed its borders once the schism occurred and all present agreed that it was currently a bomb with a short fuse. Tenniel was supposed to make sure that it wouldn’t explode in their laps.

While he still had the full attention from all present, Edward unfurled another set of maps. These seemed to lack the intricate panache of the carpet-sized one that already covered the table, but the details added after the initial draft made them something the Empire would kill for. Secret paths, topography information, wood density, important and unimportant data all jotted down on these personalized charts during the long years of ranging. This was their edge, this advantage of the home turf that was the one thing they would have going for them once the Empire came knocking. But still, even with this additional insight that allowed them to determine the perfect ambush spots, they were about to clash on four fronts, and according to what Letho was taught about military tactics, that was three fronts too many.

Once the meeting adjourned, it didn’t take long for Marshals to scatter and go about their business. Some used the preparations as an excuse, others weariness, but the truth was that despite the fact that they were pursuing the same goal, none of the Marshals was too fond of taking orders from anyone but themselves. They were hardy warriors, their warfare prowess rivaled only by their stubborn pride that was a double edged sword that cut both themselves and their enemies. That pride could be the foundations of their ultimate victory... or it could be their downfall.

The stuffy, monotonous hallways were just as unwitting once Letho stepped out of the meeting room as they were when he first entered the fortress, staring at him with their lifeless walls and gray windows. It was as if the citadel itself frowned upon this war that was being planned within its walls. That was why it was quite a relief to step out of it and into the muddy courtyard. The rain ceased its constant trickle by now, but the skies were still far from clear of the stormy grayness, fading to the darker shades as this long day neared its end. It set the perfect mood for what was unfolding, Letho thought. Wars and battles weren’t as heroic and vivid as the stories made them. They were gray and dirty and painful, nightmares to behold.

The swordsman’s broken arm advised rest until morning with another throb of exquisite pain, but Letho decided against it for now regardless of how alluring it sounded. Christina, Izvilvin and Sienna maybe didn’t form the most impressive squad, but they were the few that the Marshal trusted right about now. That was why Letho found it fitting to debrief them on what was decided behind closed doors. He told himself that was the only reason why he made to the local gathering place of the rangers, but whether he wanted to admit it or not, there was another. He desired some company, any company. It was a strange emotion for a chronic loner such as him and it was all Myrhia’s fault. With her, he got so used to not being alone that he couldn’t bear the clamorous silence of solitude anymore.

Fiddling Fox was a poor attempt at trying to compete with the grandeur of the Peaceful Promenade, but because of that it had a more homey feeling to it. The waitresses weren’t as grumpy, the barkeep wasn’t as tight-assed and the prices weren’t as high as in its more renowned counterpart. Perhaps that was why it was so tightly packed with people that Letho had to squeeze through the crowd in order to reach the table where the only three familiar people sat. Christina was the loudest of the three as per usual, the blonde doing her utmost to animate her two companions and lure them into a conversation. She had a peculiar air around her, as if this whole mess didn’t take its toll on her, but Letho reckoned it was just a clever mask. Some people defended themselves with silence, some with laughter, some with liquor. To each their own. Sienna was one that utilized the silent treatment, the blonde teenager satisfied with nibbling on her meal and listening to Christina’s (mostly failed) attempts to communicate with Izvilvin. She looked up only when Letho approached, but the mix of what emotions swept over her face the bearded swordsman couldn’t say. It made him feel both unwanted and welcome in her presence.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Sienna said, sporting an undecipherable facial expression and scooting over to make room for Letho on the wooden bench. Letho, still uncertain whether he should stay or go, slid into the seat and placed his immobilized arm on the table surface, alleviating at least some of the pain.

“Come dawn, we ride north. Well, I ride north anyways. Arin and I were assigned to seize the South Pass in the Comb Mountains and hold it against the Empire. The rocky terrain and the mountain passages are perfect for an ambush. Since you three are technically not under my command, it’s up to you whether you want to join me or not,” Letho said, his healthy hand passing over the cast in a failed attempt to cure the itch beneath it. His eyes were on his companions though, first meeting Christina’s peculiar silvers, exchanging them for the lilac ones of the Drow that probably didn’t understand him and finishing on Sienna copper-browns. They probably didn’t know it, but aside from his trust, they were the few that had his respect as well. They maybe didn’t go through thick and thin with him yet, but they made a good start at doing just that. And he wasn’t ready to part with them.

“North, south, east, it doesn’t matter to me. I just want to kill some Empire scum. Count me in,” the blonde teenager said, discarding the bread crust into her half-finished meal. She concealed her emotions well from the rest, but the truth was that despite what happened, she still wanted to be around Letho. At least until she decided whether she loved him or wanted to kill him. Letho considered lecturing the youth on the dangers of revenge, but figured the timing was wrong. Sienna’s wounds were still too fresh to be touched.

And even if wanted to lecture, an intruding waitress temporarily sliced through their conversation. “Can I take your order, Marshal?” she said, hiding her fatigue behind a fake smile.

“I’ll have what they’re having. Sans the ale,” Letho said before the girl disappeared into the ever-moving, ever-chattering mass with a nod and a wink. He then spoke to his companions again. “The South Pass is one of the key entrances into Concordia from the North, the only passage wide enough for a large army, and we’re pretty damn sure that the Empire knows it as well. So it’s bound to be pretty ugly up there, and that’s if we get there before them. So if you two don’t want to go, I’ll understand.”

Finding little or no recognition in the eyes of the black-skinned elf, Letho reiterated what he said in a much more brief manner in Drow. “Tomorrow we ride north. You come with us?” he said, hoping he ended the second sentence with enough accent to make it clear it was a question and not an order.

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin spent the moments between leaving the keep and reaching the Fiddling Fox with his mind racing. He had reached a crossroads, a single avenue that forked into three possible paths he could take, none of which looked more appealing than the others.

He could join the resistance and fight the risen Corone Empire like his heart told him he should. He’d fight alongside Christina, the beautiful warrior with such a strong spirit, and Letho, whom he dreaded having to stand off against. How much more beneficial it’d be to be on the human’s side, Izvilvin thought, for his mind and his sanity. He had no desire to support this new Empire that he’d only just begun to understand. But if he followed that road, Step’s leering hand would follow until it had the opportunity to crush him.

He could join the resistance until the best opportunity to kill Letho arose, then flee after the deed was done. The thought made him upset, for the Drow knew that to accomplish such a thing he would need to mislead Christina and the others, not to mention slay a man who was fighting for his home and his livelihood. Anything else would get Izvilvin killed, however, and he was not so in love with Corone that he was willing to die for it. He still had too much to live for.

Lastly, he could leave now and run for Fallien. His horse was as fast as any, and he knew safe routes to reach Radasanth. Step couldn’t use him as the inside man in such a case, and his moral dilemma would be void. Izvilvin could go underground again for a number of years, until Step thought him dead.

He looked to Christina, who sat across from him. She was talking to Sienna at the time, seemingly oblivious to his eyes as they explored her face. She was so animated. Izvilvin knew he didn’t want to abandon her and the others, regardless of the risk to both himself and his friends.

She turned to him, speaking and making gestures with her hands. The Drow smiled and nodded, then considered how to respond. He could try to play innocent and pretend he didn’t understand, but something else occurred to him.

“Released,” he said, and wasn’t sure how to elaborate. He wanted to say that they had let him go to return to Alerar, not realizing that wasn’t where he was from. “Mercenary, go home. Relations.” It made sense, if Christina could decipher it, that as a means of keeping good relations between Alerar and Corone, the Empire would release him and have him deported.

So captivated by her as he was, Izvilvin only noticed then that their food had arrived. He looked down at it and smiled approvingly to the blonde, before he began to eat, eyes up and examining the room.

Letho arrived shortly, looking far more ragged than Izvilvin had noticed earlier. For an instant the Drow was worried for him, but he quickly realized it was for his benefit. For the first time in recent memory, he didn’t stare curiously at the man, but rather focused on his food. He ate quickly but stopped halfway through his steak, unable to finish it. His ale was gone almost as fast as it had been poured.

He was about to rise when Letho spoke to him. Izvilvin hadn’t been following his conversations with the others, and couldn’t even if he wanted to, but he appreciated the swordsman’s desire to have him along, as much as it tore him.

He offered a nod in response. "Yes. I have not had rest in days, so I will take my chance now to claim some. I will see you in the morning."

Leaving a gold piece next to his half-full plate, Izvilvin whirled about the table, resting a hand on Christina's shoulder as he passed, and made his way through the crowd toward the innkeeper's counter. He managed to get a room by inflating the asking price a bit, and took the key upstairs. It had been two days since he'd slept at all, and it was beginning to catch up to him.

He hoped his mind would be clear again come morning, and his decisions would once again seem simple. As long as Christina held Icicle, though, he knew they wouldn't be easy.

((Feel free to skip my round if you guys want some dialogue, I'm fine with Izvilvin being out of the picture if you want some character development.))

[Christina Bredith]

Christina spent a few long moments trying to decipher the exact meaning of Izvilvin’s explanation. He had been released – she was with him so far! Mercenary, go home… well, he’s the mercenary… relations? Perhaps she was spending more time than she should have deciphering what was an otherwise trivial thing, but this was the most lively conversation she had had all day and damned if she was going to give it up without a fight. “Oh! Your family came to get you out! Aww, that’s so nice, Izzy.” A stunning miss – past the bull’s eye and into the bushes behind the target. And as a result of that miss, she found herself missing her own family. Would her father and mother have gotten her out of prison if they were still—?

No! Christina dug into her meal to avoid thinking about that or them. The past was as dead as the fashions in last month’s Coronian Glamour Monthly, or so Christina kept telling herself. That was just the way it had to be. Besides, there was an exciting future ahead of them, wasn’t there? Oh, sure, Corone had turned into an oppressive empire overnight, but that just meant they got to kick a few asses and bash a few heads before getting all the fame and prestige associated with saving the country. What fun that would be!

Or so she kept telling herself.

Letho appeared not long after, and Christina was a bit surprised to see him, having been certain those other marshals would keep him in their stuffy meeting all day long. But he was here, and apparently looking for them; if he wasn’t, then Christina’s cheerful waving managed to change his mind anyway. The fact that he had gotten Sienna talking was another point in his favour – she would have to find out how the man managed it, despite not being a fountain of sociability himself.

But there were more important things at hand than that. Letho explained the situation and what his orders were, and Christina suddenly switched from bubbly twenty-something to attentive soldier. She leaned her cheek on her closed fist and watched him intently with burning eyes. Capture the South Pass, defend it against the empire… all this talk of ambush and strategic choke points was invigorating to Christina. It was the goal she had long since set for herself – to be a real soldier. Now was her chance! But why was there this feeling in the pit of her heart whenever she thought of what lay ahead? Was it fear...?

It melted away rather quickly as the onus was once again on her to speak. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger and tilted her head from side to side as if considering the proposition. “Well, I don’t know…” Christina let the idea that she might not come along dangle for a tantalizing moment, just long enough for her to notice the slightest hint of hope in Sienna’s eyes, and then she yanked it all away. The woman lightly slammed her fists on the table. “Ha ha! As if there’s any way I wouldn’t come!”

As the blonde spoke, her eyes burned with conviction and passion so rare that one hardly ever saw them in any real soldier. They were at once the eyes of someone who still could not fully comprehend the crushing gravity of battle and yet also the eyes of someone who would, whether through a thousand battles or a hundred thousand battles, never lose that fire. To some it was an inspiration – even, perhaps grudgingly, to Sienna, though on the surface she would view it with little else but contempt. Regardless of the eyes of her peers, though, Christina was excited, strong, and determined.

But somewhere within that fire beat the heart of an anxious young girl who wondered what she was getting herself into.

[Letho]

Even though neither of them owed Letho allegiance, both Christina and Izvilvin agreed to join him in his mission up north. The blonde even managed to make a jest out of it, and while the Marshal appreciated the boldness she portrayed, all her antics managed to elicit on his visage was a faint smirk. It was pretty obvious to him that she didn’t know what she was getting into. The Gisela incident perhaps was pretty heated, but it was just the initial drop of the first blood that was drawn on that day, an interlude for the more gory things that awaited for them. If she knew the toll that wars took on a person, she would’ve probably stifled that laughter. She would learn, Letho knew, she would learn how the worst moments were those after the battle, when your body finally allows your mind to comprehend what just occurred. Battles were usually a blur, a step-by-step walkthrough where the only thing you were allowed to do was choose between the right and the wrong course of action. The right one allowed you to take another step. The wrong one led to death.

Letho knew all of this as a fact because, even though only twenty-seven years of age, he had been through a war already. The venue was not Corone but Savion, his home, but the story was the same... always the same. The innocent perish, the courageous fight, and in the end everybody loses. There were no victors in wars, only those that lost less then their adversaries.

The brooding swordsman didn’t utter any of these thoughts and frankly never got a chance to. By the time Christina accepted and Izvilvin departed, the barmaid was back with his meal, presenting a decent-sized steak with some greens on the side. It smelled nothing like Myrhia’s cooking – and probably didn’t taste like it either – but the day’s ride combined with a broken arm sapped Letho of pickiness as well as energy, so he decided to dig in. Of course, that turned out to be slightly more complicated then he had initially anticipated. The bones of his right forearm were still a far cry from being healed, thus rendering the fingers unusable. Unfortunately for him and his rumbling stomach, his left was nowhere near as deft as his right and trying to utilize it felt as if he was trying to eat with a hand that didn’t belong to him. It was a rather comical scene, but if either Christina or Sienna found it humorous, neither allowed their amused natures to surface. Sienna even went a step farther.

“I can cut it for you,” she offered her aid, placing her hand on Letho’s cast gently. There was kindness in her eyes, the soft innocent kind that a girl her age was supposed to have, but it broke against his hard shell like thin glass. He yanked his arm from her grasp, wincing at the pain the sudden movement evoked.

“I’m fine,” was the only thing the Marshal said grudgingly, dropping the fork and pushing the plate away. “I’m not hungry anyways,” he lied, stuffing his operative hand into his pocket and producing several coins that he dropped on the table surface.

“There are a long couple of days ahead of us. It would be best that we all do as Izvilvin did and go get some rest,” Letho spoke to the two females. He made a move to leave their presence, but stopped after only a couple of steps. Half-turning towards the pair, he added: “I’m glad that you’ll be joining us... Both of you.”

It was debatable how much of that statement was true. Yes, he was grateful for having somebody to rely on, somebody to whom he could turn his back without worrying that he would get a knife lodged in his kidneys. But a part of him wished that it wasn’t these two. Christina and Sienna didn’t belong in a war, they didn’t fit in the picture where they were supposed to swing an axe into somebody’s face. They both deserved a better fate then that, a gentler fate, a story that had a good chance to conclude happily. But that was what war did. It sucked everybody in like a whirlpool, giving you only two options; fight the current and let yourself go. And these two weren’t of the kind that let go easily.

These thoughts followed Letho out of the Fiddling Fox and into the apathetic streets of Underwood. The afternoon was drawing to a close, leaving only the moderate, damp chill and the diminishing light in its wake. Letho felt like walking a bit - it was what he usually did to clear his head and calm the clamoring voices in his head – but his arm thought otherwise. It sent a cold ache through the very marrow of his bones, making the man feel cold sweat on the back of his neck and forcing him to find a resting place in the nearby barracks. The entire compound was a miniature fort that used to belong to the CAF, together with its wooden fence that still dripped tree sap and smelled of pine and teak. Beyond it, most of the buildings looked the same with their wooden facades and thatched roofs, with a burn mark here and there to remind the beholder of the insurrection and spoil the grim idyll.

***

It didn’t take long for the Marshal to find a cot. Finding sleep, however, turned out to be a much more grueling task. It was still early evening when he laid his head to rest, so there was still a lot of activity around and within the barracks. To a person that usually woke up when a rabbit farted in the woods, it was almost impossible to fall asleep. And then, when the night finally descended upon them and silenced most of the soldiers, Letho’s arm found it appropriate to awaken. The point where the broken bones met was like an epicenter of concentrated pain, making every motion feel as if somebody was pushing an ice-cold dagger into his arm and then trying to tear his arm off his body.

Somewhere around midnight, Letho finally came to terms with the fact that, if he wanted to get some shuteye and not go insane, he would have to track down a healer or chop his arm off. Seeing that he would still need his arm in the future, the Marshal untangled himself from the rumpled bed sheets and moved past the snoring troops. He envied most of them for being able to sleep so soundly, envied them like a poor man would’ve envied a rich merchant that pranced down the street. Unfortunately, he couldn’t steal sleep from these men. The best he could do was to get his own.

Outside, the night injected refreshment with the first breath Letho took into his lungs. The mud of the courtyard smelled of earth and horse dung, but there was still enough of Concordia’s freshness in the night’s breeze to soothe the restless Marshal. He would’ve looked at the stars, would’ve wondered where Myrhia was, what she was doing, was she alright, but the pain overruled all cerebrations.

He probably would’ve roamed the streets like a boozer in search of his remedy, but there was something alive in an otherwise dead courtyard that drew his attention. At the far end Letho’s eyes were able to distinguish a diminutive human figure caught in some sort of the struggle. The drawn steel twinkled and danced under the faintest of moonlight that squeezed past the moving clouds. As he approached, the Marshal was able to pick up the sound of metal hitting wood, over and over again, at an almost frantic pace, disrupted only by the shallow breathing of the attacker. The attacker was Sienna, her foe a wooden training column with all sorts of weapons sticking out of it. Usually, it was a contraption that turned and forced a person to dodge the wide array of weapons, but right now it was stationary and the blonde girl was attacking it with vehemence.

“You should leave something for tomorrow,” Letho spoke, his voice barely more then a whisper, and yet it seemed to echo across the benighted yard. The girl snapped her head towards the voice, half-startled, half-annoyed that somebody interrupted her training. The thin linen shift was damp with sweat and air moisture, clinging to her body shamelessly, ending at her knees where her muddy legs began. Her left spun one of her twin daggers while her right pointed the other towards the intruder.

“I have plenty for tomorrow. And for every day after tomorrow as long as there’s Empire vermin to fight.” As if to prove those words true, the blonde teenager turned towards her wooden adversary, slicing first with her right, then her left, knocking off a pair of splinters.

“Do you now?” Letho said in an enigmatic tone that attracted her angry eyes once again. “Your eagerness is commendable, Sienna, but perhaps it is misdirected. The Empire is responsible for your father’s death, but the majority of people we’re going to fight are not. They’re soldiers, not so much different from us.”

“I don’t care. They know what the Empire did and they still fight under its banner. They don’t deserve mercy,” Sienna spat, slowly catching her breath and staring at Letho with piercing eyes.

“No, perhaps not mercy. Perhaps not even honor. But they do deserve respect, every solider does. For most soldiers the difference between right and wrong is blurred by the obedience trained unto them. It is something that is not easily cast away,” the Marshal said, calm and stoic before the frontal assault of her glare.

“And yet so many here threw it away so easily.”

“Rangers are different. We’re not too fond of somebody sitting on top of our heads. But we do respect each other and our enemies.” They were both speechless for several moments, the flare in Sienna’s eyes refusing to yield in front of Letho’s words. “What I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t fight every single person as if he or she was the murderer of your father. It takes a lot of hate for that, a lot of anger. Save it for when we march against Gisela.”

She looked up at him with stubbornness at first, the kind that a young teenager might’ve had if her father forbade her to go out with a boy, but the calm in Letho’s eyes managed to quell her raging fire. Sienna’s head might’ve nodded in compliance, but in the darkness of the night it was a barely noticeable movement. Satisfied with the result, the Marshal squatted with a grunt and picked up a wooden stick that somebody detached from the column.

“What are you doing?” the blonde asked. Letho merely smirked and brought the stick in a defensive position.

“If you want to reach Gisela alive, you’ll need to work on your skills. Come on, give me your best shot. Keep in mind, unlike that thing over there, I can hit back.”