'Tis the Season

[Tshael]

{If you’re interested in joining, this is conditionally open. Gain permission from me through PM to this account, by e-mailing mandasnothere@hotmail.com or by calling 405 824 7286. Thank you.}

Nothing lasts forever, a wise woman had once told a young redheaded girl. The seasons gave up their crowns to the next in line with little fits, except for maybe winter who took the longest to let go. Flesh gave way to earth, fire to the air, the tides ebbed and flowed. There was a balance to everything, the woman had said and all life hangs within those arms. The child thought that she had understood the words of the sage, and in the way of the child who has no idea of the vast world beyond their circles, she did understand. Life, however, goes on and the child grew up to be a woman and a mother and it wasn’t really until a dry autumn morning, standing in the last dying lights of day, watching the last dying lights of the fire, that she understood. Nothing lasts forever. Not lives, not love, not dreams.

While she watched as the Silver Pub burned to dust, a stone-faced Tshael clutched a sleeping child to her breast, fighting back tears of rage and injustice. She wasn’t so naïve that she’d dare to scream that it wasn’t fair. Althanas, and life at that, certainly weren’t fair. However, those childlike tendencies were coming alive so readily while she watched her home and livelihood dance away in warm, mockingly cheerful flames. In the inviting firelight, she could see several figures already. They, like she, set up their homes on the outskirts of the capitol city. Out here was just urban enough to draw steady customers, but remote enough that the chance of saving the building in the event of this situation was slim to none. Most of the faces were sympathetic, a few moving close enough to pat her on the shoulder and murmur their condolences.

The hours dwindled on, the breeze coming colder and colder at her back as the lumber receded into bare embers, and then nothing but scorched and blackened earth. It was a lucky thing, someone said, that the pub had been surrounded by unyielding clay and gravel. The farms were untouched, glowing amber with withering stalks of corn as the sun began to peak from the horizon. Nothing had been harmed, except for a pub. It had been early in the fire that the fear had reigned. As flames stroked alongside the barrels of rum and whiskey, balls of light exploded in the sky, tossing timber and glass. Tshael and a few shocked patrons had their share of scrapes and bumps, but otherwise most were unharmed. The wild idea of rebuilding in stone was flirting with Tshael’s mind - with the help of her sister and Lord Ithermoss she did OWN the land - but it was one comment, said on the very outskirts of the ravaged land, that caught her attention.

“This whole thing reeks of the Mob, I tell you what.”

As Tshael looked up to see who had spoken, a shadow darted away in the long light of morning to lose itself within the crowd. In that moment, everything changed.

[skyler manfield]

((I had been waiting on Dan, but I'll go ahead and post to get this started. I'll leave it to you to bug him Mandalou))

Why the hell am I even considering going back to Corone? Skyler asked herself for the dozenth time as she stuffed another pair of wool stockings into her bag. It wasn't the bag Hawk had given her, and it didn't contain her case of poisons, but she wouldn't be able to replace any of that anytime soon. If what the shaman told her panned out though, she might be able to get a few easy kills soon enough, and replenish her stocks.

But is it really worth going back to Corone? shaking her head, she closed the flap and slung the leather strap over one shoulder. Mizash's eyes never left her face as she packed. He'd taken her in nearly two months before out of the deadly embrace of winter in the mountains of Salvar. She'd become seperated from the barbarian she traveled with, and did not dare venture into any of the villages -she was after all still a fugitive in this country.

But Mizash had found her at dawn, half covered with snow and curled under the boughs of an ancient fir tree, a wolf lying at her back and sharing its heat. Skyler didn't remember this, and it had been another week before she'd recovered enough from hypothermia and near starvation to even speak to the shaman.

He didn't speak much, which Skyler was grateful for. But he told her that his wolf had found her and that he would heal her and give her shelter until spring thawed the snow in the mountains. She had to work once she was able, gathering firewood, hunting once she learned how, collecting snow for them to melt for drinking and bath water - but it mattered not, at least she was alive.

And now she was leaving Mizash's cave to go back to where she'd begun. Corone was a dangerous place for someone who was wanted dead by the leader of the Radasanth Crime Syndicate - and Skyler was wanted more than just dead. Deacon loathed the assassin girl, and had already proved that he would go to any lengths to have her dead body as a trophy in the Syndicate headquarters. Skyler had refused, at the end of her apprenticeship, to assassinate her mentor - who had also been the leader of the Syndicate at that time. Now that Hawk and Skyler had both run for their lives, Deacon had taken over, and had his contacts in every corner of Althanas looking for the assassins.

Mizash had told her of someone in Corone who might help her. Someone who could teach her a skill which would be priceless when added to her natural ability to go completely unnoticed to the eyes and ears. He hadn't explained it very well at all, but he insisted that if she could convince this man to take her as his student, and if she could indeed learn this invaluable skill, then she might have the upper hand in her battle against Deacon and his Syndicate. She might just be able to kill him.

Skyler smiled to Mizash, her stormy grey eyes somewhat sad as she stood at the mouth of his cave looking back at what had been her home for the last two months. The shaman patted her head clumsily and nodded, pushing her gently out of the cave and into the dripping thaw of the Salvarian spring. It was going to be a long journey to Corone.

[Slayer of the Rot]

For a place he'd called home once in all hbis years of wandering, it felt disturbingly alien to him to have to tread so lightly...though the patch of ruin in front of him did well the enforce the ideal of change. The slayer had decided it best to hide who he was when walking on streets where his facial features could open painful, greiving wounds, all thanks to his brother, and had bundled himself in robes. The first clung tightly to his body, it's tails falling to his ankles, but the other over it was roomier with a tall, static collar that hid most of his face. A pair of goggles with dark lenses did well to complete a costume that would fool most prying eyes, unless they personally knew the man he was before.

Dann, or Ren, depending on who you were talking to, sighed deeply as he crouched, and ran a hand across the soot stained earth. A chill wind, the first marks of winter clinging to it's back played over his form, and he scowled, glancing up briefly as he rubbed his blackened fingers together. The sky was overhung with depressing grey clouds, the usual for a November sky, if the Althanians even used November as a month. What hints of green had remained here and there had vanished weeks ago, giving way to the colors he preferred; the browns, the reds, the yellows, and the oranges. Despite how much he usually loved fall, it was making the clues of what had started the fires very hard to come by. He wanted to beleive that someone had set an intentional fire in one of the wastebaskets are with all the hard liquor kept in the storage rooms, but with all the dead leaves carpeting the ground, it was difficult to prove that it wasn't just a simple accident. And even though he wanted to make a martyr for the fire of what had been a home for him for a few years, it was hard to think of anyone who would have wanted to burn down the pub. It would be a bit of a stretch to say it was some vengeful, rowdy drunk that had gotten tossed that night; even on the days he had off, no one was stupid enough to try and do anything after they were given the boot. "Tshael...she wouldn't have gotten involved with anything, right? I doubt it, she never seemed the type. Which means that maybe she rubbed someone the wrong way. Unfortunately for them, they must have forgotten that Tshael isn't the only one that would be pissed of by this."

"You knew that Dranak lady, eh?" Dann perked up, wiping his hand on the grass before standing, looking at a light haired man, somewhere in his early thirties, holding a shopping bag. "At one time or another, yes," the slayer answered, pushing his goggles up to his forehead. "It's a shame that this place burned down. It's where I used to take refuge when my wife got the monthly visitor, you know what I mean? But between you and me..." The man moved in a bit closer, putting a hand to the side of his mouth. "There's talk around the rumor mill that the mob might have had a hand in it all." The slayer nodded scowling...and raised an eyebrow as a look of suspicion passed over the friendly man's face, his eyes flickering over all the places where Dann's scars were. "Hey, wait a second...!" There was no mistake that he'd recognized him. Sensing no one nearby, and not an eye on him beside's this man's, his hand slipped out of his sleeve and came down heavy across the back of the man's neck. He slumped against the slayer's form, and Dann lifted him up and set him down out of sight behind one of the buildings neighboring the charred lot.

First thing to do, he needed to find Tshael...but he couldn't think of the first place to even start. Sighing, he pulled the goggles back down, gathered the robe around himself again, and walked off, raking his mind.

[MaxBlade]

"Hey, wait a second...!"

That had to hurt Fareron thought as the man slumped to the ground. He had heard the whole conversation, the man leaning in to whisper the look of understanding as he studied the man’s face. He heard the thud of flesh on the hard ground. A burned down building, a girl named Tshael, the mob? Fareron shook his head, this was kind of confusing, and he had just got into town. He had came to the town to find the Citadel, he had been informed not long ago, and he really wanted to see the place, but his attention might have been diverted.

Corone was nice; a place to find many adventures and it seemed he had just found another. As the victor of the confrontation walked away, he stepped out from behind the bush he was hiding behind about fifteen meters away, how he could hear the wind you ask? Well you see he was a wind mage.

Carrying words on the breeze came easiest to him; it made him a great assassin. He walked up to where the man had been standing, and crouched down. Pulling the man from behind the bush, he slapped him on the face a little bit but he didn’t revive him. “Hmmm…no need to kill the man.” He said looking up at the sky and then he stopped frozen dead in his tracks.

The man fell out of his hands and his mouth dropped open, there standing in front of him was a woman, a beautiful woman actually, but she did not look happy, her curls bounced frivolously, but her mood was not the same. “What did you do? I’m going to kill you for killing my husband.” She made a wild charge at Fareron and he deftly rolled back wards still crouched down looking around for a place to run.

This had obviously been the man’s wife, and now he was in trouble. She held a knife in her hand and she had a wild look of determination in her eyes. He couldn’t believe that he had got himself in to this situation. It was time to get out of the situation. He waited to she was right in front of her and then he jumped up hand whipping out like lightning in between her eyes knocking her out on the spot. “I wish I hadn’t had to do that.” Yeah she’ll wake up with a headache

He then lightly leapt in the air and looked down on the earth below him. He saw the man walking and followed from the air.

[Tshael]

The wilds of Concordia were wondrous this time of year, turning burnished golds and deep crimson with the season. A man stood under the foliage by the base of a waterfall. He gazed into the mists, a grim expression on his face, before he turned and picked up the bucket of water he'd come to draw. Krathos an'Nashiar was a creature who saw many things in the water vapors, most of which he had firm opinions on. Now, however, he was facing down confusion, an unfamiliar territory. There had been two visions in the mist, and as he wound his way up the stone steps that led to the cottage at the top of the fall, he tried to seperate them.

That was the trouble with seeing more than one thing in a scrye. The forcest that be never liked for mortal minds to meddle in what they were planning, and there had been once, years before, when multiple visions would have confused him and sent him running for cover. He, however, had learned long ago that those were the times when it was least acceptible for him to mind his own business. He reached the peak of the steps, and walked the short distance to his small home, setting the bucket of water on a wooden counter.

He was proud of his modest space. The entire place was pretty open. Walking into his front door put one in a small den with a hanging sofa that resembled more of a wood and down-filled cotton hammock than anything in a Radasanthian sitting room. Several shelves ringed the contraption, full of books and glass jars filled with seeds and dried herbs. An island counter seperated it from the kitchen where a large pit fireplace held an iron rack where pots hung, bubbling and boiling. A smaller rack hung higher, were the heat from the fire dried various plants and petals without burning them. An archway near the kitchen revealed another room. This one was neat and simple. A small down mattress lay on the floor, covered in a badly-stitched quilt of browns and blue. A now-extinguished lantern sat beside the mat, several open books strewn around. The walls were made of clay stone, cool in the summer and warm in the winter, and the roof a tightly woven thatch. He'd built the cottage - and every piece of furniture found inside - himself. In some strange way, it was a testament to his manliness, to himself.

Krathos had the body of a man, that could be sure. Broad shoulders, a strong jaw and a deeply tanned skin stretched tight across well kept muscles would have made more than one maiden swoon. He had a kind, thoughtful face, with passionate green eyes and long dark hair that he kept tied back with a leather cord. Being Dranak, his legs were that of a horse's, footed with large black hooves that he never shod. His tail was as black and silken as his mane, but without the presence of clothes, one thing was painfully obvious.

Krathos was a eunuch.

A sinister splay of scar tissue interrupted the smooth flow of furr just between his legs. He refused to cover it, walking as tall as he once did, but with a slightly different gait. There was something in his calm eyes that challenged any man to deny his place among them, and something in the strength of his fists to tighten the lips of any who felt the urge to laugh.

Leaving the water on the counter for a moment, he moved into the den and retrieved a small mirror. It had beveled edges surrounding it that rose up and he laid it down on it's back by the water. With his hand, he scooped some of the cool liquid and let it drop onto the mirror's surface, ignoring that the majority of it missed the mark and spread across the oak countertop.

"A smaller frame, a smaller evil," he commanded when the water had settled. The more disturbing of the scenes could wait - Tshael could hold out for a few minutes, he felt. It had been the weaker of the scenes he'd witnessed, playing along the edges of the fire, that had caught his curiousity. A girl, encased in ice. He saw her fade in and out of sight, as if trying to keep herself from his eyes. Then, he saw nothing but a tree within the ice, growing gray and small in the freezing crystal. Krathos laughed and overturned the mirror, letting all the water spill across the wood and drip onto the floor. He went into the bedroom for a moment, but as he returned, his footsteps seemed to slow and he watched the water on the floor intently. With each drop, the ripple that spread out contained another image. First, of a land of ice, and then, each pulse showed the same fleeting picture. Two eyes, yellow, with hints of glacier greens and icy blue; the eyes of a tundra wolf.

"Salvar," he said absently before leaning down to clean up the water. "And a predator at that." He shook his head and once he'd cleaned up his mess, he poured the rest of the water into the soup pot and began to add the vegetables and herbs that had been roasting over the fire. He remained silent through this, his eyes seemingly far away and his movements mechanical. After sitting before the fire for a while, he moved to a small wooden trunk by the base of one of the bookshelves and began to take out squares of cotton and sheaves of denim. In another box he checked on his supply of down and soft rushes before going to sit again before the fire. A small bone needle and brown thread were sitting there, waiting, and he began to sew without much skill. On it's journey south, a sparrow stopped and stood for a moment on his windowsill, watching. After a moment, he looked up, a small smile on his face before he answered the unasked question.

"Well, if the wolf's child is coming from Salvar, she'll be cold. A tree can't bloom in winter. You know that full well."

~~~~

As their morning chores called, the crowd began to break up, leaving Tshael to stand with her child and few last hangers on. She noticed how their eyes combed what was left of the area, and she sighed, letting them search for any alcohol that might be left. She knew they wouldn't find any, and at the moment there were more pressing matters to attend to.

Her hooves making their way down the lane, she watched as the morning skyline of Radasanth began to loom up from the horizon. She was tired she knew, and felt a bit light, as if she'd been drinking all night instead of watching her home burn to the ground. It wouldn't have surprised her if breathing the air of the burning Pub had gotten her drunk, because it was a drunkard's quest (or a fool's) that she was now on.

In the soft morning light, Tshael Nito set off to find the Radasanthian Crime Sindicate.

[skyler manfield]

Exhaustion would have been the biggest understatement Skyler had ever heard if anyone wanted to know what she felt. She had travelled since early spring in Salver, through melting snow drifts, drowsy animals who were grumpy and very hungry after hibernation, and suspicious stares from locals who she feared recognized that she was a fugitive.

Her hair was knotted and dirty and reached halfway down her back now, finally having grown from the jaw length cut that had allowed her to pose as a boy. Her face was smudged and grimy, and those sea-grey eyes were sunken and hollow from days without sleep or food. Thin before, now she was nearly emaciated, the food Mizash had given her having been eaten by a hungry raccoon within days of her leaving. She's scrounged berries, hunted mostly unsuccessfully, begged quite a bit, stolen even more, and now as the ferry took her across to Corone, she sighed with relief that hopefully the end of this seemingly endless journey was in sight.

There was a bustle of movement at the front as they pulled into the pier, and Skyler waited for it to die down before she made her way off the ferry and tried to find her way to Concordia. She worried terribly that Deacon would find out she was here and kill her before she had the chance, but she was a changed person, her face no longer just plain but barely human. He wouldn't likely recognize her now.

One of the passengers on the ferry had been curious about her, and she had dodged his questions about everything except where she was headed, and now he waited nearby with his wagon. With a smile he waved her over, and Skyler approached him warily.

"I'll give you a ride to Concordia, you don't smell no worse than the mules, and the gods know we've all been there at some point," he offered, to which she nodded and jumped up into the back with his cargo of furs and fabrics from the mainland. Not everyone had been where she was, but it didn't matter. She didn't think she could walk another step, and dozed fitfully as the wagon jerked and rumbled overland to Concordia.

"Here's the end, darlin'," he told her as he ground to a halt before the village she'd described to him, "It was right nice travelin' with you."

"Thank you sir," she said gratefully, swinging her bag over her shoulder and nodding as she set off to find the home of one Dranak man named Krathos. This looked like it would be fun... or not.

Approaching a very attractive man, she asked for directions to find this Krathos, her words trailing off a bit at the end as her eyes moved lower on his body to see the horselike legs and hindquarters. She knew now what a Dranak was.

[Tshael]

The morning came, and Krathos had woken up with a strange feeling. Today would be the day that the wolf's child came; he could hear it on the wind. He washed in the falls, brought in fresh water and swept the old rushes out the front door before scattering the floor with fresh ones. They smelled sweet, and it would be something soft for her feet besides the clay that had petrified over the years into a reliable stone. The newly finished blanket lay folded in a corner and he tossed aside his own before spreading it out over the mattress. He hoped she wouldn't dissapprove of the manly smell the thing had, but he didn't feel that there was little he could do about it. Walking out the front door, he checked the small pond that he'd dug near the house - it was where he kept his fishing catches until they were needed for a meal. Everything seemed to be in order, and he began the trek to the main road.

A commision in Radasanthia had once set up checkpoints around Concordia, though these days they were little maintained and used mostly as shelter for travellers on foot. He arrived early and sat down to wait. Finally, a cart rumbled up and after a brief exchange, a woman came over to him.

For a moment, he was just as bewildered as she was. The woman he'd seen in the vision had looked healthier than this. He felt as if he should he telling her goodbye, rather than greeting her. When she asked for him by name, but seemed surprised at his nature, he knew she hadn't had much information to come on. He wouldn't have been surprised if his name was all she had to go on. Carefully, he smiled and folded his arms across his chest.

"A sage by the name of Krathos does live in these woods, yes. The walk is long, and it's dangerous. There is a horse merchant who does not live far from here. Would you allow me to buy a horse for you to take? I'm not sure you could make the walk in your condition." His face betrayed nothing but earnest caring, and he seemed to lean closer for her answer.

~~~

As Tshael stalked through the streets of Radasanth, she stopped only for a moment in a small shop to buy a replica of the sling she'd lost in the fire. It wrapped around her shoulders and fell down to hold her child firmly against her back. For a moment, she found herself wishing she'd never conceived; it would have made something like this far easier.

As she set back on her route, she was so determined in her steps that she never saw or heard the three shadows that followed her through the streets.

[Slayer of the Rot]

"You know, a man once asked me where I was going and when I told him I was off to find where my life would take me, he laughed. When I asked him what was so funny, he told me that it was the look in my eyes. He said that if all that echoed back to me in the night was the lonely set of my own footsteps, the ending I'd find would be less than satisfactory." Without his robes, the autumn air was crisp, biting, and surprisingly bright, seeming to leak into every nook and cranny of the crowded city. Dann had been following her for the past thirty minutes or so, content just to simply watch her move about and prepare for her retribution. After he'd left the ruins of the Pub he'd meandered into the countryside to find one of his old safehouses, when years ago as a slayer in the hands of the Wilmhearst he'd killed as he'd seen fit. The little room had often served as a place to rest, patch up any wounds he'd suffered, and repair and restock his weapons. The large pad lock, though slightly rusted, had held well, and the place was untouched. The makeshift bed was just as he'd left it nearly a decade ago, and a thin gray film coated everything, trailing a long line of footprints as he'd approached the trunk towards the back. The blond man at the empty, charred lot had seen Dann Lagh'ratham, and once his headache had faded away and the wheels of the rumor mill would start turning, that's who they'd all be keeping an eye out for...so he'd give them another man. The Dann that approached Tshael Nito on this brisk fall day was the slayer that had come from a world away, and not the one that had been broken and rebuilt in Haidia.

He'd abandoned those heavy black robes and goggles in favor of a long sleeved white jacket, whose appearance resembled something much like a blazer, but the straps and hidden pockets for ammunition or short blades spoke far from diplomatic reasoning. Across the back was the Wilmhearst family sigil; a burgundy cross that represented the sacrifices made for the greater good (crucifixion was a popular sentence of execution amongst them), with a longsword and executioner's axe overlapped at it's foot. He'd worn it by order all those years ago when not in the city to show his allegiance; now he wore it to mask himself again.

Silence ruled the panorama, which made the occassional crackling of leaves seem even louder. Fitfully, the sound of a bird's austere and lonely call broke the silence as well, but the song always tapered off after a few seconds, as though the songbird was hesitant to break the perfect hush and topple silence from his throne. After a few moments, Dann crossed the distance to stand by her, looking down at her grim, determined face. "What do you hope to do on your own? And with Tysliss, at that?" Anger touched his face at how careless she was being, but it vanished quickly. "Maybe if I hadn't gone of for three years for my own stupid reasons, this wouldn't have happened, but I know one thing; I'm going to kill everyone that had something to do with this. They burnt down a place that not only was a home for a few years, but hold some of the best memories in this miserable thing I call my life. Not to mention, they torched some of the best fucking aged bourbon I'd been hiding under the floorboards. You deserve the revenge more than I do, but I won't you take him. I'll be damned if I let you take him."

He paused, then turned towards the direction he'd been travelling from, and cast his glare on his tag-along. He was an aeromancer, or some sort, clad all in white. Most people wouldn't have been perceptive enough to notice him, but the slayer's senses were far greater than the normal man's. In addition, when he'd lagged in his pace, he felt how the winds had shifted; unnatural for this season. Dann's hand fell to his hip, where an odd looking iron weapon sat in a leather holster. "Exactly how long have you been following me?"

[MaxBlade]

Fareron was becoming weary, tired from the long journey, the man had been traveling for a while, and keeping up at this speed and staying behind him at the same time was a difficult task, in a way, Fareron was sure this man was not ordinary. The sun was high in the sky and the wind was dusty, making it hard to breath. The man had changed clothes, now wearing an array of something.

What he was wearing didn’t matter to Fareron, what mattered was if he would stop any time soon. To his relief he did, but not in the manner he would have liked, he was stalking a woman now, Fareron couldn’t help but think What kind of murderer is he? He looked around for a place to hide, the bizarre they were standing in, crowded and noisy from the hustle and bustle of the crowds. He tried running to a spot to hide, but he was to late when the man spoke.

“How long have you been following me?”

Fareron felt frustrated, his attempt to track this man thwarted. His disappointment was soon gone as he remembered why he had been following him. “Curse you, don’t try and patronize me, you know what you did, why did you kill that man!?” Answering a question with a question might seem weird but it was a classic art of interrogation. He looked at the girl he was standing by; no it was a woman, a nice looking one to. He nodded his head, acknowledging her presence.


(Sry for lateness, I didn't have much time to wirte this so it might be lame.)

[Tshael]

Tshael stopped when she heard a familiar voice. The people around her were clearing, slowly as they continued their paths, leaving Dann and Tshael standing out like tall rocks blocking the flow of a stream. The Dranak had no care for that, and turned to face an old friend. He was different now, that much was more than apparent. There were new scars, to be sure, but there had always been another mark of his need to work that mysterious something out of his system. Her face softened, and she listened; no other being at this moment would have gotten so much care from her. His last comments itched under her skin, but she was used to it. Instead, she too focused her attention on the man that Dann was staring so angrily at.

"Honey," she said, touching his arm lightly. "You've got more weapons on than Queen Valsharess has jewels. You're a suspicious kind of guy. Who WOULDN'T follow you?" She peered around her old bouncer to glare at the man. "Where did your mother come from? This is just not sensible."

Again, she turned, and began to walk down the street.

"Dann, I can see your concern, but I can take care of myself and my people have been going to war with babes on their backs for hundreds of years."

She knew he'd follow - probably after he'd dealt with their bystander. Maybe this stranger would agree with him and decide to go and protect the lady. She knew she wouldn't walk away from this street alone, and she honestly didn't care. No matter how fragile Dann saw her in his own mind, she wouldn't let him make her feel like glass. She would rise up, and strike out, and if she had to hurt him in the process it would happen. He'd been gone too long, and she'd been growing more and more disgusted with the life she'd been living. Something had to give, but she'd never thought it would have been something that changed her life just this much.

"Oh...and I finished that burbon off last week. You're right. It was good."

She began to turn a corner, heading for a network of alleyways that wound between some of the industrial buildings in the city. The stone here was beginning to crumble from disuse and the weight of heavy carts that rumbled down, and in the scrub plants were growing with a vengeance. She made note of it, and calmed herself to keep from her magic leaking into the souls of the weeds.

Just as she'd ducked behind an alley entrance nearly obscured by low hanging laundry, something slammed into the wall in front of her. Embedded in the brick was now an arrow, splinters hanging forlornly off the shaft. Without looking in the direction it'd come from, she crowched, and the weeds below her hooves began to thicken and grow quickly, first moving to wrap around Tsyliss, a few moving towards her heart. Her armor had been destroyed in the fire, but she still had her magic, and while Tshael was prone to shyness and a quiet demeanor, she'd never shied from a fight.

As the twang of a bowstring rang in the air, she let the magic flow.

[skyler manfield]

It was all she could do to keep her knees from buckling as she stood before the Dranak, but she managed to stay on her feet. Her stomach rumbled loudly, and she swore it echoed from the small cottages that dotted the village and sent the birds twittering in fear out of the large oaks and ashes that towered overhead casting their green-gold light in dapples over she and the Dranak.

He offered, for whatever reason to buy her a horse. It was so very tempting, but she knew to be wary of strangers offering gifts. Almost inevitably, Skyler had learned, there was always some ulterior motive that would come back to bite her in the butt if she accepted some mercy or other.

"I thank you sir," she responded carefully, straightening her shoulders and drawing herself up, "But I've learned that even the kindness of strangers comes at a cost - nothing is free."

The words were much more polite than she was accustomed to, and they came out stilted and foreign tasting. It wouldn't do though to offend someone who might pass the word on to Krathos and cause him to refuse to train her. Shifting her weight, she looked past the Dranak to the woods that he claimed held the path she must travel. It didn't look dangerous, but long was dangerous enough in itself.

"Could you tell me how exactly to find Krathos, sir?" again the strange courteous language almost set her to stuttering, but she didn't falter completely, "If I'm to make it before dark, I need to start now I think."

[Slayer of the Rot]

Dann switched exasperated glances between the red headed dranak woman, and the brown haired interloper, though the looks given to the latter than the former held much more of an edge to them. The aeromancer, for the moment, concerned him more, however, and he turned towards him, stomping a foot down, facing him directly instead of glaring at him over his shoulder. He set his posture, ramrod straight, and from the way his teeth shone, it was certain that he wasn't pleased in the least by these accusations. He'd dealt with them enough when fleeing through Raiaera and Alerar in the first months after his brother's sordid trick. Dodged plenty a bolt and blade because they all thought he was a murderer. "Do you understand what kind of god damn world you live in, aeromancer? This is a land where it's dog eat dog. Wars pop up sporadically and if you're not ready to kill, then they'll be measuring up the planks for your own personal pine box. Still, I'm not stupid, contrary to popular belief. I can gauge my own strength, no matter how great it is, and at worst I dealt that man a concussion!" Passerby were slowing their paces to stop and stare, and Dann threw them the kind of glare that people thanked what gods there were that looks couldn't kill. Shutting his eyes, he sighed, and struggled to count backwards from ten, absently rubbing the scar that ringed his neck.

Another cold wind blew down the avenue, rustling dead leaves and sending a chill up the slayer's spine. "You can keep following me all you want, aeromancer, I could care less. Maybe by doing so you'll see that I don't take killing so lightly." Grumbling to himself, Dann turned back around, following Tshael -- but froze stiff at her words, his hands folding into fists. "You did what?! I'll kill you!" He rushed forward, flinging his arms every direction he could muster, his frustration reaching a new peak. "Do you know how old that god damn bourbon was!" He clapped a hand over his mouth instantly, eyes going wide as he glanced down at little Tysliss, thus far peaceful in his mother's presence. He stirred briefly, but did not open his eyes. "If you weren't like family to me, I'd break your damn neck," he growled, though in a much softer tone. "Two decades. Two decades! I found it in the back of all the stores and thought I'd treat myself for all the hard work I'd been doing! Remember that? All the harm I put myself into just so nobody would mess up the pub? Shit, I got this one from working in the kitchen!" With a sharp tug, he pulled up his coat sleeve to show a prominent scar across thhe underside of his forearm. Oddly enough, many of the others were fading away, as though his body was finally doing away with them.

It was, indeed, times like this that he wished he still lived in a permanent inebriated stupor on a day to day basis. Hell, he'd settled for cigarettes, but those were things left behind in the past. Besides they were too familiar of him. They were like General Damon Kaosi's (rest his soul) stakes or that infamous crook Storm Veritas' electricity. Even in such a plain disguise, he'd be identified in a second the moment he lit up. Still muttering to himself, he rounded the corner, hot on the dranak's heels. Not all of Corone's capital city could maintain a shining veneer that would be suitable to place in a crown. Every gem, over time, became smudged and cracked, and many parts of Radasanth was of no exception. The stretch of road before him was a mess of cobble stones riddles with spiderweb cracks, and many were missing. Through those spots of absence, tangled weeds took residence, and Dann noted the slight growth in them as Tshael passed. Her pace was one of determination, and the slayer had little qualms with following her as long as she knew where she was going on this path of revenge.

He suddenly felt the air beside his head split as something shot past, and his eyes registered the arrow sunk deep into the wall across from Tshael a second later. Whipping around, his hand dove into the breast of his coat. It would be unwise to use the Oblige right now in plain sight; his ease in using such a heavy weapon would draw unwanted attention. The same went for his armor. Therefore, he armed himself with a split second decision; he drew a long, shining dagger of rare mythril. He lowered his stance, his eyes flickering towards the surrounding buildings, his powerful eyes piercing the blanketed darkkness inside. He heard a bowstring snap, and sing, once, with an arrow darting past him towards Tshael, and a second. The following arrow came at him, but he had guessed that it would, and he turned towards the source of the second shot, arm sweeping out quickly, slicing the arrow from the air with one part skill and onme part luck. "Damn...the second shot came from a different direction. Where the hell is he?!"

[Tshael]

Krathos sighed, shaking his head. She was willful, that was for sure. As a rule, he never trained willful students. Just as, he thought with a small inner wince, he never trained students who always obeyed and took advice. In fact, he couldn't remember the last student he'd trained. It had been decades, at least. He nearly turned away and let her die there, but he couldn't do that to her. She was too frail, too hurt to just leave at the roadside.

"As you wish," he said, nodding. He turned and pointed to a small deer path off the main road. "Follow that until you find three trees that twist together at the top, but none of the branches touch. Climb through the farthest two left trunks and you'll be at the foot of a new path. Follow that one until you get to a small waterfall. You have to cross behind the falls into the cave, and you'll find a small set of steps that lead up a cliff. It's the only way to the cottage. Make sure every time you make a path change that no living thing is following you. Knock only once on his door." A sly grin flowed across his lips and mischeif sparkled in his eyes for a moment before he added one caution to the girl.

"If you get in trouble, look into the branches above you. There will always be a small yellow bird somewhere above you. If you manage to hit it with a rock, all your problems will vanish."

~~~

As the second arrow came towards her, Tshael ducked and slammed her fists down, letting magic explode around her. Weeds that had been little more than tufts in the dirt now roared upwards in a net of life, grabbing hold of the arrow as it hit it. It was an armor of sorts, and while the arrow did slide through the hole it tore, it was moving so slowly that it didn't even scratch the Dranak when it fell against her. Another pop in the air and she looked to see Dann holding tight the third. His question was a good one, but she had the means to find out the answer.

Closing her eyes, Tshael fell into herself, a web of life opening up before her. She could see the growth of plants in the tapestry that the magic threads wove, the stone dull and unmoving, but above them, movement reigned. She caught sight of tiny earth threads, small smudges of dirt on a pair of shoes, the settling of dust in hair and on clothes, and a smirk grew into a grin.

"Dann, cover me for a moment and I'll have him out in no time."

She began to work her fingers, finding niches to pull earth in, and high above in a building, something began to awaken in the bricks of the building. As a figure ran past an upper floor of an abandoned motel, a hand of clay whipped out of the ground, grabbed him, and flung him out the window to the alley below.

They say that the only things absolute were death and taxes, and as the figure looked into the waiting eyes of the two that stood below, he was pretty sure which he would encounter today.

[Tshael]

Krathos sighed, shaking his head. She was willful, that was for sure. As a rule, he never trained willful students. Just as, he thought with a small inner wince, he never trained students who always obeyed and took advice. In fact, he couldn't remember the last student he'd trained. It had been decades, at least. He nearly turned away and let her die there, but he couldn't do that to her. She was too frail, too hurt to just leave at the roadside.

"As you wish," he said, nodding. He turned and pointed to a small deer path off the main road. "Follow that until you find three trees that twist together at the top, but none of the branches touch. Climb through the farthest two left trunks and you'll be at the foot of a new path. Follow that one until you get to a small waterfall. You have to cross behind the falls into the cave, and you'll find a small set of steps that lead up a cliff. It's the only way to the cottage. Make sure every time you make a path change that no living thing is following you. Knock only once on his door." A sly grin flowed across his lips and mischeif sparkled in his eyes for a moment before he added one caution to the girl.

"If you get in trouble, look into the branches above you. There will always be a small yellow bird somewhere above you. If you manage to hit it with a rock, all your problems will vanish."

~~~

As the second arrow came towards her, Tshael ducked and slammed her fists down, letting magic explode around her. Weeds that had been little more than tufts in the dirt now roared upwards in a net of life, grabbing hold of the arrow as it hit it. It was an armor of sorts, and while the arrow did slide through the hole it tore, it was moving so slowly that it didn't even scratch the Dranak when it fell against her. Another pop in the air and she looked to see Dann holding tight the third. His question was a good one, but she had the means to find out the answer.

Closing her eyes, Tshael fell into herself, a web of life opening up before her. She could see the growth of plants in the tapestry that the magic threads wove, the stone dull and unmoving, but above them, movement reigned. She caught sight of tiny earth threads, small smudges of dirt on a pair of shoes, the settling of dust in hair and on clothes, and a smirk grew into a grin.

"Dann, cover me for a moment and I'll have him out in no time."

She began to work her fingers, finding niches to pull earth in, and high above in a building, something began to awaken in the bricks of the building. As a figure ran past an upper floor of an abandoned motel, a hand of clay whipped out of the ground, grabbed him, and flung him out the window to the alley below.

They say that the only things absolute were death and taxes, and as the figure looked into the waiting eyes of the two that stood below, he was pretty sure which he would encounter today.

[MaxBlade]

Fareron, would have loved for the arguement to carry on he loved to argue, but it was not to be. An Attakc is what came down upon them, and the muderer was not listening any more, but intent on protecting the red head. As two shots came out of nowhere to hit the killer he sliced it in half and cursed. The red head had shots coming at her too. Barrels exploded open as some of the stronger shots came down, people ran for cover, ducking and weaving, a lady fell, an arrow flying at her back. Fareron couldn't stand too see anyone else die. He quickly conjured up his Sky Disk A circular saw blade made entirely of white, razor sharp air. Its circumference is lined with small curved blades and its center is virtually hollow except for a cross shaped part that allowed Fareron to grab it. He threw it at the arrow slicing it in half, the arrow deflected from it's course.

Arrows flew from all direction's he couldn't keep up, he looked both ways, as one flew from the sky arching over head, and then one flew from the stalls. This was magic he was not used to. He dodged an arrow as it came at his head, but was less unlucky, as one flew through his robes coming out on the other side. He couldn't take this anymore, and thought to destory this man or maybe creature whatever it was.

He flew into the air, slowly going up, looking down. Just in case he was on the ground he cleared everything out with a gust of wind, barrels scattering, and wagons tipping over. Over head it looked like this.

The shops stood off to the left of the dirt road, and wagons filled with vegetables and fruit stood next to some of the shops. Taverns littered the road on the right, and a steeple to a church that was far away, still stood above house roofs and everything else to the west. Right there in betweenn the shops and taverns and carts was an inn. Abandonded or not he couldn't tell he did see people or actually something running around inside the building. He looked down to see if copper curls had seen it yet. She had and was perfroming a work of art with her magic.

She formed something a hand it looked like whipping the man out of the window. It freaked Fareron out. If he wasn't in the midst of battle he would proabably asked her how she did it, but no time. He quickly moved his hands, and started to weave a spell, muttering words at the same time. "Yo quito taco bell, "He muttered agian and again forming tendrils of smoke which thickened and thickened, reaching down at the man, grabbing his wrist wrapping around his middle. Fareron's favorite spell, Vines of Entanglement. He smiled as he slowly floated down, too see what copper curls would do next. He would tighten the grip if she wanted too kill him so he wouldn't run away.

Copper Curls is a nick name for Tashael just letting you know.

[skyler manfield]

Skyler looked at the nearly invisible path that the Dranak pointed out, and struggled to contain a discouraged sigh. Instead of sighing though, she raised her chin and nodded resolutely, giving a grateful - if weak - smile.

"Thank you for the directions," she said stepping away from him, "I'm sure the bird will be great help should I need it."

Her words were laced with sarcasm, but it mattered not. Without another thought to what had been said or implied, the young assassin set off down the path, stumbling over tree roots, tripping over upthrust stones, getting scratched and slapped in the face by low limbs. It was as if even the forest tried to slow her down. She knew better of course, she was just tired, and not at her best, but even so, each step seemed to take more energy than the last.

She felt like she walked for hours, but the sun didn't move even a fraction of an inch further down the sky. It mocked her as she moved at a painfully slow pace down the path, constantly having to backtrack where she lost the way. Every step seemed to lead her deeper into the woods, and nowhere did she see any sign of a three trees with branches twisted - touching or not.

With a whimper, she carried on, until finally her legs gave way beneath her and she fell to her knees. She crawled a little further, to a large stone settled between three trees. Skyler managed to drag herself upon to its cool smooth surface. Sprawling, she laid on her back, staring dazedly up into the twisted branches of the three massive trees above her, realizing with an angry sob that these were the trees the Dranak had described. That meant she was barely halfway to her destination.

She hadn't the energy to move another inch. The world spun wildly around her, hunger and thirst leading to vertigo and body aches. A small bird twittered somewhere, its gold feathers flashing in the branches just above her. With a start, she sat up and looked at it.

"Goddamn little bird! I'm supposed to hit you with a rock if I need help," she cursed the bird as it hopped around beside her and then back up into the trees with a cheerful chirp, its black eye on her as she reached for a small stone.

If there was one thing she was good at, besides poisoning people without being seen or heard, it was throwing something with near perfect aim. Of course, a moving target never had been Skyler's forte, but she could at least try. That is if she had enough energy to throw the rock far enough and hard enough to hit the bird to begin with.

She gathered a dozen or so pebbles onto the stone beside her, and took a breath before she began lobbing them at the annoying little yellow songbird which seemed to take a perverted delight in flitting about just out of her reach.

With a grunt she began to throw the rocks at it, one after another, until finally, with the last pebble, she made her mark. The bird squeaked painfully and fell with a thud to the dirt floor of the forest, which she scrambled to eagerly.

"I should just fucking break your little neck," she growled angrily, looking around for the promised help, "Where's the help..."

[Tshael]

In the form of a bird, compassion had no way to show through. Those beady black eyes watched without fear as the girl came crawling to it, ruffling it's feathers, and hopping back and forth in more anticipation than pain. The rock's aim had been true, but it wasn't angry. It had, after all, instructed her in this way. After only another moment more, the air around the bird began to heat, shimmering with both the temperature and the spell that the mage had concocted.

Tufts of feather split apart, the feathers darkening to ochred tan and black spots. The skin stretched, moving from the pocked avian flesh to something smoothed and muscled. It took several minutes for the beak to melt onto an elongating face, into full lips. The scaly bird legs grew tufts of fur. Muscles stretched taut, bones creaked and snapped as an entire structure was revised. As the final blackened feathers shifted and fluttered out into hair and tail, the Dranak mage-master stood before the woman.

"Help is something that can be sought with dignity," he said quietly as he walked forward to where she lay broken in the dirt. "Had you accepted my help earlier, there'd be no need for this." He leaned down and began to pick her up, anticipating a fight. "I am Krathos dennaNito, and I will take you to my house."

He looked her over, noting the spark of anger and life in her eyes that had been there even as she collapsed under the physical and mental stress she'd put herself through. Not caring much whether she fought or not, he picked her up gently, cradling her body to his as if she were a child, and stepped between the trees. His hooves knew the way to his home, and it was within moments that they were at his doorstep. He let them in, and took her into the room to lay her down on the mat.

Returning to the kitchen, he filled the pot over the fire with water, leaning his face away from the steam that billowed upwards when the water hit the hot iron, and began to toss in vegetables and herbs. After a moment, when the water began to darken as the flora steeped in the heating water, he stepped outside. While it would be a pain to bone the fish, he knew she would need meat, something to thicken up the stew. Before he'd gotten to the pond, he looked up to a movement in the trees. There stood a doe, staring at him balefully with her dark watery eyes. She looked older, too old to bear fawn.

He lifted his hand, and the tree behind her struck out, impaling her through the chest. The doe's heavy lashed eyes fluttered closed, and Krathos began to stalk towards her, calling his knife from the kitchen. As it floated to him on unseen strings of command, he grimly thanked the world for the life of the doe.

His new ward would need heartier meat than fish when she finally woke anyway.