The Beginning of a New End

[Caelan Bolish]

OOC NOTE:
This is a private roleplay between me and Letho. If you want to join send me a pm or Letho one

A delectable aroma slithers its way through the crowd of hagglers, merchants, and beggars in the merchant square, leaving a trail of mouths drooling in anticipation to taste the food that radiates a smell this exquisite. Caelan like most could not resist the scent, and he found himself sniffing the aroma once in a while to lead him to the source. When he got to the origin of the aroma he found himself in the front of a small bakery.

It was a quaint little building made out of gray bricks in the southern end of the square, where the more wealthier merchants held shop at, in between a butcher who had bloody carcasses of cows, goats, and chickens hanging out in the front windows and an apothecary that had a strange sweet scent radiating out from it. Inside the bakery was to small to have anything luxurious inside. The only real decor was a small table set to the side with two stools in case someone decide to eat the bake goods they bought from the bakery. To the back of the room there was a large oak counter that went from one side of the bakery to the other with only a small opening in it that allows the employees access to behind the counter and the back of the bakery. On the counter was an array of different baked goods, and each was smelt more tempting that the last.

As he stare basically drooling over himself at the food a young woman slip out from a door that led to the back of store and came over to Caelan. She was skinny girl who had very curvy hips. There was white flour on her face and a few splotches up and down her arms that were strange against her ebony skin. Her black hair was tie braid into a bun to keep her hair out of the ingredients as she prepare and bake the food. In a musical voice she ask, "How may I help you sir? We have a nice array of pies and breads today"

Caelan was confuse at this new word. Pie. He never had a pie before; the closest baked thing he ever had was the bread that had a sprinkle of hazelnuts in it that the women fed us with dinner. Wondering he ask the girl what a pie was. She laugh and pick up one of the strange foods that had a slight strawberry scent to it. It was in a circular shape with a wavy border that wrap around the entire shape. The front of the pie wasn't completely cover, it criss cross each other forming lowercase "T"s that left squares to see what the pie was stuff with. In the center of the pie there was dice strawberries fill to the top.

The woman giggle again as she watch the strange young man stare at the strawberry pie. After she place the pie back on the counter she said, "You are not lying you truly haven't seen a pie before sir. Where are you from where there is no pie?"

"I am from a Salvar in the northern mountain ranges call Skavia"

"Ah that is far away sir. Anyway that pie is two silvers"

Caelan rummages through his pockets and come up with only two coppers and a silver piece. As he stares at the meager amount of money he has on him it finally hits him that he has to find some kind of work or he is going to soon run out of coins. He places the coins back in his pocket and takes one long look at that mouth watering pie and then says, "I'm sorry to have waste your time. It seems I do not have enough coin even for a room tonight"

The woman frowns a little at that and places the pie back on the spot it was originally on in display a thoughtful look in her eyes. She blushes slightly then smiles seeming to finish her thoughts and says, "Well we can't have such a handsome young man sleeping out in the cold, dangerous streets can we. I will make a deal with you. If you clean up the store I will allow you to sleep under the table and you can have a loaf of bread too"

"Of course thank you. Thank you. I just need to get my things from my room and I will be right back"

Caelan then runs out of the bakery not believing his luck that he find a warm place to sleep and food to keep his hunger away. He might just like it in Corone.


* * *

The past fortnight has been the same peaceful routine for once since he fled from his old life as it burst into flames. He clean the front gallery of the store and the back where Katlin, the woman that gave Caelan a place to sleep, and her assistant Fitch would bake the daily goods for the day. Once in awhile when business was slow Then he would spend the night talking with Katlin who had a small three-room apartment above her story or exploring the town he learn was called Willowtown. However today he felt like his life was going to change as he look at the poster of a bounty for whoever kills a ogre that has been raiding the farms around WillowTown. Caelan whispers under his breathe, "Katlin won't have to be charitable towards me anymore after this"

Caelan opens the door to the back part of the bakery and yells, "I will be right back Katlin I am going to get some supplies for tomorrow!"

"Alright Caelan. Don't get lost!"

"No promises!"

He hears a short laugh before she says, "Get out of here!"

He leaves the bakery squinting as he tries to adjust his eyes to the sudden brightest of the sun. The square was unnaturally quiet in the early morning glow with only a few merchants who got up early to set up their shop for the rest of the day. As he leaves the square he heads towards the blacksmith Dezil who set up the bounty for the ogre. On the poster it said for anymore information on the bounty to head towards him. That is what Caelan was planning on doing, to get more information on the bounty so he was fully ready when he face the ogre.

[Letho]

Willowtown.

Crouching amidst the skeletal remains of what used to be a manor atop of the Willow Hill, a bulky figure looked over the awakening of the small town that spread below the crest of the hill. Occasionally his eyes would drift to the ruins around him, his hands browsing through the rubble like an uninterested customer. The morning was filled with the gentle sound of rustling leaves, the old willow trees whispering under the influence of the mild breeze. They encased the long lane that descended down the hill from both sides, their crowns forming a green tunnel from the base of the hill all the way to the top. He knew those trees as well as he had known the house once, and like always everything around him brought back memories of a better time, a better life.

Back before Empire scorched the house atop the Willow Hill, Letho Ravenheart used to live there. He had been a Marshal of the Corone Rangers back then, the so called Tree-towns of the county were his domain and his job consisted mostly of chasing down petty robbers and putting down rabid animals that pestered the locals. And he had her, of course. Myrhianna. She hadn't been his one true love, for he had been married before. And she hadn't been the most beautiful woman that had ever existed, for she had her scars and faults as did he. But she had been his life, a ray of light cutting through the gloom of his life, and she had a way to make him smile even when he was certain he had no intention to smile. And then the war came, turning their lives upside down, and somewhere in the midst of all that mayhem Letho Ravenheart lost his beloved, his purpose, his mind, and nearly his soul as well. Somehow he retrieved the last two, but even now, fifteen years later, the memories cut into him like a dagger made of ice.

Being at this place again didn't help either. Even though the ash and black soot was washed away by now and nature began to take the Willow Hill back under its dominion, Letho Ravenheart could still recall the manor in all its splendor. Even as he sat there on his haunches as the world around him slouched into another day, his mind reconstructed the living room around him, where he once sat with her in front of the fire, telling her one of the stories from his travels. Not being a terribly imaginative person, he couldn't reconstruct the smaller nuances, like the way Myrhia's hair smelled when she leant her head on his shoulder, the way her body felt next to his. But even the optical illusion in his mind's eye was enough to make him feel more alone than moments before.

And yet despite that reemerging pain, he was here every year on the same day for a new portion of it. He kept saying to himself it was his way of remembering the chirpy little redhead, but it was a crappy excuse. He couldn't forget Myrhia even if he lived to be a thousand, and though this was a place where they once lived, it was not the place where she died. Perhaps he kept coming here because this was where they had happiest, spending their days - short as they might've been - in the shade of those old willows.

Somewhere down in the town, a rooster raised his voice, insisting that it was time to get up and go about your business. Letho took the fowl's cue and got up, dusting off his hands against his faded blue denims. He walked out of what had once been his home and below the porch that was no longer there and into the courtyard that was no longer mowed and tidy. He untethered his horse - a spotty brown palfrey - and saddled up, pulling up the hood of his threadbare grey cloak. There were still some mixed feelings about his role in the Corone Civil War, mostly about his premature departure from the entire chaos, and he didn't want to turn any heads today.

Though once he made his way down the hill and into Willowtown, it seemed like there was little chance of that. Willowtown was far from a bustling big towns like Gisela and Radasanth, where the streets in the morning were like arteries pumping the life of the local economy. Out here in the sticks, life unfolded at a different tempo, with people going about their business at a leisurely pace, stopping every now and then to greet their neighbors and exchange the latest gossip. Even those that were doing some work, like sweeping the dust from the porches of their shops or arranging their goods, didn't see the need to rush.

The main square - no more that a rectangular patch of hard packed earth - was just more of the same. No hawkers pestered Letho with the promises of the extraordinary quality of their goods, no tincture sellers promising wonders from the shade of their awnings. Just ordinary people selling ordinary goods and being content with being content. The only thing that stuck out like a sore thumb was the big lug checking a piece of paper nailed to a post. Letho clucked his horse a bit closer out of pure curiosity, but by the time he got close enough to inspect the hand-written bounty, the big man was gone in large, determined strides.

An ogre, Letho thought as he scrutinized the poster. He tried to remember the last time there was a report of an ogre in these regions, and couldn't remember any. None in his time as a Marshal, that he was certain off. Ogres usually kept to the solitude of the high places, mountains and peaks farther up north. Comb Mountains were a hard ride to the north, true, but they were a gentle range and Letho knew most passages like the back of his hand. And not once had he encountered an ogre there. This anomaly in the behavior was enough to peak his interest. He searched for the name of whoever set up the bounty, and found it was a name he didn't recognize. Back in his days as a Marshal, Edonas used to be the local blacksmith, but Edonas lost his head in the Gisela Massacre, so it was no surprise that Willowtown had a new blacksmith. Not knowing whether this Dezil person set up shop at the same spot as Edonas or not, Letho decided to ask for directions. The first person he ran into was the same tall figure that had been staring at the poster moments ago.

"Hey, you, lad," Letho called the tall young man from atop his horse, his voice gruff and raspy. Only then Letho realized he hadn't talked to anybody for days now, except maybe himself during his journey to Willowtown. He cleared his throat before he continued. "Do you know where I can find the blacksmith, this Dezil. Seems he has a problem I might fix."

[Caelan Bolish]

The steed was beautiful. Ever since he left Skavia he has seen horses being used in every different way. Some were used to plow the fields of farms, others were used for transportation from a simple farmer to a wealthy noble, and even a few were pulling along carts and carriages. This one was different though it was more majestic. More powerful. The way it held its head up high snorting daring anyone to come near it. It had an aura of power. The horse was a warrior's horse.

The steed's rider match the the persona of a warrior to a point. He was tall even though he seem to fall just a couple of inches short to Caelan. He was muscular to the point of being bulky with broad shoulders to match them. His hands were big and meaty. Everything about him was powerful and somewhat frightening. Yet the thing that seem to declare he was a man that has fought most of his life was his brown eyes. They were piercing and seem to soak in everything around the pair, and those eyes just staring straight at him sent shivers down Caelan's spine. Those were the eyes of a man who seen to much bloodshed and death for anyone. They were the eyes of a true warrior.

Caelan was memorize by those eyes of a warrior that he almost miss the question the man had ask him. He looks down and starts to shake his head to get his mind back on track and to shake away his strange fondness of the man's eyes. When he lifts his face determination is written across it as he stares the man back in the eyes and answers, "Yes sir I do know where Dezil is locate at. I was planning on going there myself right now. My knife is becoming dull of late and I have no whetstone to sharpen it. I was hoping I could be able to get him to sell me one of his whetstones. Anyway follow me I will lead the way"

Soon after he was done speaking he was pondering on why he suddenly lie to the man instead of telling him the truth about why he was visiting Dezil this morning. He realizes that the way the man said he was going to fix Dezil's problem brought the ogre to mind. Caelan just didn't want this man to know that he was planning on going to kill the ogre himself for the bounty just yet, so Caelan sets off down the dirt road towards the southern end of WillowTown were Dezil was locate at.

[Letho]

Dismounting with practiced ease of a long-distance rider, Letho led his horse through the streets of Willowtown as he followed the young lad. The large youth didn’t seem local, but that was all too common in Corone which was a proverbial crossroad of the known world. In a realm whose population encompassed just about any race, where a man could buy a harlot with the dark skin of the Alerar elves or bandy words with the strangely-accented, olive-skinned Fallieni, a northman wasn’t such a rare occurrence. There was little doubt in Letho’s mind that’s where the young man was from. He had the strong square jaw of the people from the Icelands and a trace of an accent as hard as the land he was coming from. It was not something common folk noticed – a swallowed vowel here, a different accent there – but for a wanderer such as Letho, they were clues enough to make an assumption.

And he seemed like a decent lad at that, lacking that cocksure, angry, I-want-to-kill-my-father attitude that far too many young ones donned like a mask these days, trying to cover up their insecurities and faults while they bitched and moaned how life had it in for them despite the fact that most live in a luxury their parents could only dream of. Instead there seemed to be respect in his tone, but also a sort of casual determination of a person that worked hard all his life. Traits that seemed to be growing more and more rare in the world these days, Letho mused.

Willowtown passed by them at its demure pace as they walked, its denizens paying the pair little heed. Not a lot changed over the years in towns like Willowtown, not even after the fires of the Civil War encompassed them. Sure, there were traces of the war within the town, sporadic charcoaled scars of burnt wood that time and locals didn’t heal yet, half-restored house here and there stuck in limbo somewhere between first and second story. And yes, some of the faces he knew looked a bit more wrinkled now, time taking its toll as surely as a taxman. Some lasses he knew were lasses no more, now going about their business with a babe on their arms or clutching to their skirts. But for the most part, Willowtown was just as he remembered it. It would’ve been an encouraging thought if not for that old dagger twisting in his gut, reminding him that not all got to return to their old lives. Indeed, some had no life to return to.

They found Dezil’s smithy in the same place where old Edonas and his daughter Sienna ran their smithy back in the day before the war. It too looked about the same, the new owner even sticking to the old name. Letho tethered his horse next to the water trough and followed the young man into the ‘Cracked Anvil’. The heat struck them both the moment they opened the door, so strong and thick it was almost tangible. The sooty windows let little of the natural morning light into the smithy, but the large fire blazing at the far end made up for it, coloring the entire room in hues of hellish orange. Next to the radiating coals of the fire, a stocky (ah, but is there any other kind?) dwarf was working the bellows with huge, hairy hands. He greeted the pair with a raised eyebrow as he gave the bellows one last squeeze.

“Ah, Caelan, good to see you again,” he said to the young man, his accent containing not a trace of the usual dwarven drawl. That too wasn’t terribly surprising. There were plenty second- and third-generation dwarves all around Corone who never even visited Kachuck or the Northlands from which their ancestors arrived.

“And who might you be?” he addressed Letho next.

“I’ve seen the bounty you posted,” the Marshal responded, pulling his hood down. “I might be able to help you out with that ogre.”

“Is that so?” the blacksmith said, taking a long, hard look at Letho’s face. Letho thought there might’ve been a spark of recognition in the dwarf’s blue eyes, but it also might’ve been the reflection of the fire. It didn’t seem to matter because the smith didn’t seem interested in pursuing it any further. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“Details,” Letho said simply. “The wheres, whens, whys, the usual.”

“Well, as to why, I don’t have a bleeding idea,” Dezil said, picking up a long iron rod and shoving it amidst the coals. “My brothers and I have a small mine up in the Combs. It’s a weak vein and the ore isn’t all that good, but it’s fine for minor work and the rock is solid. Didn’t have a single collapse in over a year.”

Letho said nothing, only folded his arms before his chest. The blacksmith continued. “Then about a week ago, I stop getting shipments from the mine. So I sent two of my apprentices to see what’s the hold up. Only one came back, and he was so mauled and broken that he was barely able to speak. Mostly he kept muttering about blood and death. And the ogre, of course. Big as a house, the lad said.”

Letho doubted that estimate. A fleeing man usually counted his enemy twice at least, and a fleeing, hurt and frightened man most likely counted even more. But it was irrelevant. The threat seemed genuine enough. Reaching past the hem of his cloak, the Marshal pulled out a rolled up piece of leather. Unrolled, it pictured an immensely detailed map of the Concordia region and the adjoined Comb Mountains. It wasn’t a fancy map, with intricate decorations and little drawings that represented towns. But it contained just about every ranger trail and goat path through the region.

“Where?” Letho asked simply, laying the map down on one of the workplaces. The young man that led him here, the one Dezil named Caelan, was looking over his shoulder at the parchment as the dwarf traced one of his meaty fingers over the map.

“Right about... there,” the smith tapped his finger. “Yes, take this short trail up from the canyon and you should run into it soon enough.”

Letho nodded, memorizing the trail, then rolled up the map.

“So, you’ll take the job?” Dezil asked.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t ask how much is the bounty.”

“That’s right, I didn’t,” Letho said, turning to leave. He paused just long enough to pull his hood back up and look the young man in the face. “Thank you for your help.” And with that he was gone.

[Caelan Bolish]

The map was very detail and seem like it took many years of concentration and hard work to layout in such an accurate way. It was drawn and design by a experience man who use a hunters sense of detail to create. Caelan quickly look across the map remembering everything down to the smallest details. His eyes then follow the meaty finger of Dezil as he show the path that would lead to the location of the mine - and the ogre - inside the vibrant wildlife that surrounds WillowTown. As soon as the dwarf blacksmith pull his finger from leather map the man the burly man roll up the parchment and hid it away in his cloak.

After that he watch the rest of the conversation in silence basking in the warmth of the orange inferno in the corner of the smithy until the man turn to leave. As the marshal was leaving Caelan call out to the man, "It was my pleasure sir. I will pray for your safety to Yu'ghi"

Once the man disappear into the awaking crowd of WillowTown the dwarf turn around and gave the young man a warm smile. He went behind a heavy cotton drape that cut off his private workshop from the rest of the smithy and yell out to Caelan, "I am taking it you came for the package my friend! I have to say Caelan this is one of my best work! It took a good chunk of my free time this week to do this!" The stout blacksmith came stomping out from behind the drapes with a breastplate that was gleaming from the light of the orange inferno from the furnace in the corner. It was exquisite polish down to do a smooth almost mirror-like front. In the center of the breastplate there was an engraving made of silver of the head of a dire wolf howling out to an unknown moon. It was beautiful.

Dezil hands the breastplate over to Caelan reluctantly with tears brimming his eyes. Smiling the northerman puts his head through the top if the breastplate and places his arms inside the sides in the hole. It was snug against his torso crafted to fit his body like a second skin. "Its amazing Dezil. You out did yourself. I only ask you to get rid of the scratches on it, but this it is too much" He says as he trace his fingers along the lines of the wolf.

"Its nothing Caelan your praises of my work is enough. I just thought that that little addition would make it more meaningful for you."

"Well it does Dezil. Thank You."

"Caelan" A frown appear on the grizzly face of the dwarf. "be careful."

"What do you mean?" Caelan ask, but he knew what the dwarf meant. Somehow the dwarf knew he was going after the ogre.

"Nothing just be careful."

"Goodbye Dezil. Thank you again" Caelan says, leaving the smithy. Once he disappears into the crowd away from the worried looks of Dezil he runs off into the forests stopping at the bakery to grab his sword, Black Wanderer and his leather chaps and greaves. Somehow he had to get to the trail, find the ogre, and kill the ogre before the man could. Caelan knew this was going to be a challenge yet he did not care he had to repay the generosity of both Dezil and Katlin. He had to prove to himself that he could survive in this new world with his head held high and without the generosity of others.

As he got far enough into the forest that the town was no longer in sight he left his thoughts and feelings for later and concentrate on navigating the wilderness. He stalk through the forest on his padded hunting boots making almost no noise. He seem to glide instead of running his feet barely touching the forest floor. He was in his hunter sense of mind for almost an hour before he heard the soft snorting of a horse which made him instantly move to the side hiding behind a large yew tree. He strain his hearing as he try to hear the noise again to figure out where it originated from. He whip his head to the west as he heard the faint snorting of a horse again a few thousand yards away.

Caelan slowly creep towards the direction of the noise, the snorting becoming louder with each noiseless step. He clear another yew tree to see the man from earlier resting at a small bubbling brook as his horse drank from it. The trail that lead to the ogre was just a hundred yard on the other side of the brook. Yet there was no way to get to the trail without the man noticing him. Swearing under his breathe he waits standing still for the man to make the first move.

[Letho]

The day grew in vibrancy as Letho Ravenheart proceeded through the forest. Once the morning mists dissipated before the increasing power of the sun, light and warmth poured through the green canopy in scattering of sharp beams, giving the world a sort of a crisp look. It reminded the Marshal of a freshly minted coin, with its sharp edges and clearly distinguishable features, and it made everything look and sound more alive somehow. And yet despite all that life resonating through every chirp, every rustle, every sigh of the tree crowns swaying under the mild breeze, it was a place of tranquility, where a man was an intruder and the nature reigned. A trek through such an environment was usually a relaxing venture, allowing Letho’s mind to wander, but not today.

Return to Willowtown recalled a plethora of memories, and as it usually went with these things, it was hard for Letho to determine which hurt more; the good or the bad. And despite the pain, his mind went on its usual calculating track, dissecting and reviewing the past decisions for the umpteenth time and uncovering nothing new. It was an unintentional thing, a knee-jerk reflex of a regretful mind that didn’t necessarily search for new discoveries. He knew all the missteps he had made, learned the hard way that there was no way to change the past, and made peace with the ruin his life fell into after Myrhia. And yet still the cogs in his head turned and the images flashed before his mind’s eye. It was a mental whipping, a punishment he exacted onto himself for letting that which was most important in the world slip through his fingers.

But strong as the melancholy sense of nostalgia was, it wasn’t the only thing that kept Letho restless. After a short while of slow plod amidst the trees of Concordia, the Marshal got a sort of itchiness at the back of his mind, the feeling that he was being followed. It wasn’t anything strictly perceptible that brought on this feeling, no leaves shuffling behind him, no dry twigs snapping when they shouldn’t. Whoever was following was good enough to avoid that. Yet, the feeling was there, like feeling the lack of the sunlight when the cloud passes over the sun even if your eyes were closed shut.

Letho’s first thought was to confront his pursuer immediately, but further deliberation made him dismiss the idea. Whoever or whatever was tracking him was good enough not to be heard or seen, and that probably meant they were good enough to avoid direct confrontation. And while Letho was pretty certain that he would eventually uncover the mysterious pursuer, he didn’t want to waste time on chasing shadows through the forest. Instead he simply let it be. There was nothing in Concordia that he hadn’t met before, and he was fairly confident that he could take down whatever was stalking him should it decide to attack. And thus they plodded on, the Marshal and his invisible shadow far behind him, somewhere amidst the wall of tree trunks and shrubbery.

By the time he stopped to water his horse, the sense of being followed grew in intensity, and he could actually hear a sound here or there. It was nothing that a common person wouldn’t dismiss as a brush of wind amidst the fallen leaves or some critter digging in the dirt, but Letho knew the forest. It was like a living, breathing organism; the wind was its breath, the constant activity of the multitude of animals its heartbeat. And because he knew the rhythms and sounds of this huge beast, he knew when something was amiss, regardless of how small it was. Whatever was following him was growing closer, and now he was almost certain it was a person. The faintest of sounds of creaking leather and the rhythmic scraping of cloth against something metallic was enough for the Marshal to make that conclusion.

Patting the neck of his horse as the noble animal bowed down to drink from the stream, Letho fished out a canteen from the saddlebags and took a couple of deep swallows, then bent down to top it off again. Even with the bubbling of the brook beside him and the merry chirp amidst the trees, he noticed that the subtle tell-tale sounds of pursuit ceased. He gave the forest around him a quick glance, got an eyeful of green and earth-brown and nothing else, and then decided to end the game right there.

“So, do you plan to creep behind me the whole day?” Letho raised his voice. The deep rumble of it silenced every other sound for a moment, and then the forest returned to its busy hum. The Marshal gave the surroundings another onceover, thought he saw a faintest of glints behind some shrubbery, then added: “Come now, reveal yourself. I mean you no harm. Unless you are an ogre, that is.”

The last bit was spoken with a faintest of grins, the only sort of a smile Letho had these days. Hopefully it was enough to persuade the stranger that he spoke the truth.

[Caelan Bolish]

The words were like a punch to his stomach when Letho openly invited him, his second shadow, to show himself. A shawl of uncertainty drape upon Caelan's shoulder as his mind tries to ponder out what cause him to be found out. Was it the glint of light the newly crafted polished steel breastplate gave off against the rays of the sun? Or maybe it was the slight noise that his hunting knife made as it scrape against the locket of his scabbard during his nearly soundless glide of a chase after Letho? It even could be that this man named Letho was so omniscient in the way nature works that he could tell what was happening around him just by the way nature acts? Whatever gave him away told him one thing about this man; he was a man that could kill Caelan. That frighten him.

Yet even though Caelan knew that this man was someone not to trifle with he still had no choice, but to show himself to Letho because of one reason and one reason alone. Letho knew these woods better than Caelan did, so even though Letho may not know exactly where he was hiding out at if Caelan try to run for it Letho would eventually find Caelan before he reach Willowtown. However he had a plan that may just save his hide and also get Letho to allow him to join him in hunting down the ogre.

With his hands away from his weapons in a nonthreatening way he walks out from the foliage of the forest into the sight of Letho. With a slight smirk on his face he says, "Creeping? I wouldn't call it that exactly, more like a quiet stroll through the woods" He walks over to the bubbling brook as he stare off towards the trail that would lead up to the mine where the ogre was to be found. "Is that the trail that will lead to the canyon that Dezil was telling you about earlier this morning? I have some bad news for you Letho about that Canyon. I heard chatter from a group of locals that visited the bakery I was staying at this morning. They said that a band of deserters who turn to the life of banditry from the Corone Empire were camping up in a canyon near Dezil's mine. I knew you were heading out that way and I didn't know if you knew about the deserters so I decided to go after you and warn you about them. Also I decided I would join you in this endeavor. It is always better to have another sword at your side" He explain to Letho. It was not the total truth. The band of deserters were more like a handful of recruits that just couldn't handle the brutal training of the Corone Empire military. However he hope that his lie could appear as an excuse for him to be following Letho.

Grunting slightly he takes a seat on one of the larger stones that were taking an eternal earthly slumber along the slowly drifting water. He submerses his aching feet into the relaxing brook after he takes off his padded leather boots and places them on the side of the stone. The cold water of the brook seem to soak the ache and pain from his worn-out feet. It brought an almost bittersweet memory of his childhood. Caelan turns his head slightly towards Letho and asks, "Have you ever face an ogre before?"

(OOC Note: Sorry it is so short my mind is blanking)

[Letho]

Letho wasn’t surprised when the tall young man the blacksmith called Caelan stepped into the clearing. After all, the first time he saw the northman, he was examining the very bounty Letho had accepted, and then later the same man seemed oddly interested in Dezil’s directions and their exact location on the map. The Marshal should’ve assumed there was a good possibility that his stalker was the same man he met back in Willowtown, but his mind had been all over the place this morning. However, everything clicked into place once he saw the man and heard his explanation.

Letho watched Caelan closely as he spoke, cataloguing the information as well as looking for any trace of dishonesty in the man. For all he knew, it could all be a ruse and the large man could be one of the deserters trying to lure him into a trap. But he could find no hidden agenda in either the words spoken or the man’s countenance; if Caelan was a liar, he was a damn good one. But Letho doubted that was the case. Even though the youngster had the look of some northern barbarian fresh off a hill deep in the wilderness of Salvar, he didn’t have the air of senseless belligerence or slyness around him. Instead there was just a kind of honest eagerness that young people have while they were still green and thought nothing could harm them. Letho knew he had been like that once upon a time, but after so much time, so much pain and blood and death and trodden miles, he wasn’t sure he remembered how it felt.

His first instinct was to send the kid away. Part of the reason was that adventuring was no way to live a life, scrounging money for dirty rooms in shady inns and putting your life on the line for the next horrible thing that people wanted to get rid of. Sure, it made for excellent tales next to the fireplace in the later years of your life... if you lived to see them. But most didn’t, and those that did live long enough to tell tales were usually beset by so many horrors of the past that tale-telling was the furthest from their mind. But while it was probably best to try and set Caelan straight right now, Letho doubted he would be able to do so. Just as there was eagerness in his eyes, there was also unyielding stubbornness of a man who liked to see things to the end no matter the cost. It was an admirable quality, but also one that got people killed more often than not.

But mostly Letho wanted to send Caelan away because he didn’t want company, hadn’t wanted it for a long while now. People had a bad habit of dying around him while he kept trudging on, so it was best to isolate himself from others. Even his own daughter, the last gift Myrhia bestowed upon the world before she died, he had sent to Raiaera to study magic. Half a world away, she at least was safe. But he doubted he could shoo Caelan away. He seemed like the kind of a man who followed his goals, and if Letho refused his help, he would go on with the mission on his own. And that probably wouldn’t end well. So Letho decided to play along.

“I met a couple. Not the most hospitable folk,” he finally said, offering his canteen to the youngster. Caelan accepted it with a respectable nod. Letho rose back to his feet, dried his hands against his grey cloak, and proceeded to pull his map out again. “Most are very territorial and seldom venture far from their abodes. Which makes their appearance here all the more strange. They are a rare sight in the Comb Mountains this far west. And while most are about as smart as an ox, it is not always the case. I have actually seen one haggling in the Radasanth bazaar. Badly, that much is true, but it still proves they are not all mindless brutes.”

The memory of the haggling ogre brought a smirk to Letho’s face. Even with just about every intelligent species roaming through Corone, ogres were still a rare sight in populated areas. Most ogres were almost as wild as animals, their abodes caves or holes in the earth, their appearance met with steel and arrows. But some were smart enough to form communities up in Jagged Mountains, and on one summer day, one of those had appeared in the Bazaar. At some eleven feet, it towered over just about every stall and awning in the Radasanth marketplace. The spiked cudgel it held in one of his hands was the size of a small tree, while his other dragged a cart that was made for a horse. There was a lot of ground pounding in the Bazaar that afternoon, a lot of growling and shouting and screaming. But for all the hubbub, there was very little damage and the ogre didn’t have to be escorted out at swordpoint.

“But we shall worry about ogres after we scout their position. Look here,” Letho said, summoning Caelan to a flat spot on the ground where he pinned the unrolled map with a couple of rocks. “This is the canyon that leads to the mine.” His finger went up the red line that designated a passage. “If those deserters are still here, their camp is likely to be on the east side, on one of these ridges. It gives them a good view of the canyon while keeping them hidden from those who ride through.” Letho lifted his head from the map, pointing towards the stony hills to the right of them. The he returned focus on the map and the small hammer-and-pickaxe emblem that marked Dezil’s mine. “Then again, maybe they were foolish enough to attack the ogres. Or maybe they ran into them by accident. We will never know until we have a look.”

Now his finger moved on the other side of the canyon. “The west side of the canyon is much steeper and cannot be climbed on horseback. There is a vantage point at the top that looks down on both the mine and those ridges. It is not an easy climb, but we should be there by sundown.”

Leaving Caelan to study the map a bit longer, Letho took back his canteen, went to his mount and started shuffling through the saddlebags. He fished out a lather satchel, a steel hook and a couple of rations, carefully packed in canvas wrapping. He put the canteen and the rations into the satchel, threw it over one shoulder, the uncoiled the rope from where it stood secured on the saddle and tossed it over the other, fastening the hook at the end of it. Of his weapons, he only took the Vorpal Blade, which was now in the shape of a dagger that fit comfortably in the scabbard at his hip. He considered taking the bow as well, but with the rope and the satchel, it would only make the climb harder. However, then he remembered he wasn’t going alone.

“Do you have skill with the bow?” Letho asked, drawing the composite bow out of the leather holster on the horse’s side.

“I have some,” Caelan responded.

“Me, I never liked the damned things. But we might need some cover. Here, give it a try. But be warned, it takes some strength to pull it all the way,” the Marshal said, handing the composite bow over. The ulder and cyper bow was of magnificent make and it had a draw like no bow Letho ever wielded, but ranged combat was not something he liked to practice all the often. It was a lousy thing, to kill a man without actually looking him in the eyes, but sometimes it was necessary. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Handing over a quiver of arrows to Caelan, Letho tightened the leather straps of his satchel and then nodded to his companion. “Let us get going.”