Facade

[Mask of the Warden]

Closed to Lorelei.

“The Dark Mother has a task for you.”

The sounds of a whetstone running along a blade could be heard, the hand that moved it slender and soft. Grey eyes looked upon the blade with keen disinterest as she remained silent. The silence remained awkward only filled with the sharpening of the blade before the speaker cleared her throat.The woman stopped mid sharpening for only a moment before she finished it, “I heard you Dark Daughter. I am merely awaiting my task, it is not my place to question the blessing of purpose.”

The grey eyes looked out from under the white hair, the look in them one of caution. She knew she was treading a fine line in even continuing to prepare herself infront of Aerith Remi, Dark Daughter of Cassandra. In the cult, she was what came closest to a high priest, often giving directives from the Dark Mother herself. Samantha Ambria, the Warden of the Cult was fairly certain that few if any of the directives actually came from Cassandra herself. She of course was smart enough to not say such things, that usually merited a visit from Jeb Remi. Every visit from that man ended with the Daughter of the Demon nursing herself back to health while being admonished by Aerith over how she needed to know her place.

To be truthful she began to relish those moments, but Aerith’s heart belonged to the Crimson Angel. Samantha merely remained in her room, alone and prepared for her next task. It was lonely but truly there was no one else to fill the loneliness. Instead she was in a weird limbo as far as the Cult was concerned, neither a member of the Dark Family, or a member of the blessed flock. She was the bridge, bringing edicts of punishment from the Dark Mother to those who could not control their desires.

Aerith nodded as she spoke, “Very well, I see you are readying yourself and that is good, you are to head to Underwood and arrive there by the morning. You will go by yourself and you are to find the child of Letho Ravenheart.”

Samantha looked up at Aerith with a confused look on her face before she spoke, “The Marshall had a child?”

A wan smile crossed the Dark Daughter’s lips as she spoke, “Oh yes. She is younger than you, it seems the Marshall worked towards settling down before having a child. Your father’s death the catalyst for such a thing.” Samantha managed to keep her breathing even at the mention of her father as she felt a slow rage simmer in her. The Warden nodded to Aerith to continue, “You are to befriend her. We have a few cultists in the area for you to use as you see fit. Do not be wasteful of them, and silence them if they risk exposing you. Use your best discretion.”

“This is an awfully long leash you’ve given me,” She remarked softly.

The woman smiled as she gently placed a hand under Samantha’s chin, “This is your test. If you complete this task, you are ready. No longer will you waste away in the purgatory. You will be a member of the Family, you will belong at last. Mother has seen your dedication to her cause. You have done everything we asked, and not once tried to escape. You willingly stayed at my side when Catherine would have murdered you, and you braved several of Jeb’s more violent moods. Rejoice Warden, you shall be elevated to a position befitting your devotion.”

Samantha blinked at the tenderness of Aerith’s actions and voice before she nodded and gently pulled away from Aerith, despite feeling her heart race at the contact. She gently brushed strands of hair from her face and bit her bottom lip before she spoke softly, “I am undeserving of such praise…”

Aerith smiled as she spoke, “Of course you deserve it. Now, your target is a young woman named Lorelei. She has the green eyes of her mother and brown hair of her father. She may be keeping her heritage a secret, so be sure of your target before you make your move. You are to befriend her, show her the evils of “civilized” society, show her how wrong it is. You know these truths better than anyone, it should be no problem for you.”

Samantha looked down at the mention before she said, “I dare think her experiences would be different. If Seth was hated, Letho was beloved. I do not believe anyone would have challenged her place in the world.”

Aerith let the smile falter before she put a hand on Samantha’s shoulder, “It is not my place to tell you how such a task be accomplished. That is your job. Figure it out Warden, you are a bright girl. If any of your father’s cunning rubbed off, this should be no problem for the Daughter of the Demon.”

She nodded softly looking at her gear as she sheathed her sword and prepared her pack to leave. The Dark Daughter moving back to give her room the wheelchair moving silently. Samantha looked to Aerith before she spoke, “Will that be all Dark Daughter?”

“Yes, I shall go, I have other duties to attend to. Remember, by sunrise you need be in Underwood. Make contact with the local elements and use them to your advantage. Lorelei Ravenheart must at the very least look favorably upon the Cult by the end of the week, or you will have failed. Understood?”

“I have a week to bring Lorelei to the cause, or suffer the consequences of failure,” Samantha replied. Aerith smiled and nodded as she moved out of the small room that had been the Warden’s chambers. Samantha felt a burden on her shoulders as she grabbed her chain shirt and slipped it over her tunic with a sigh. The test had begun, and she felt she had already failed part of it.


~*~

Heading to Underwood from the Mansion was simple to those that knew the trails. While it was possible to do so in a day, most required two to make it safely. Aerith’s task had been difficult, for it meant skirting the territory of the N’jalian Spider Magi, but she had managed it through luck and guile. Reaching the town as the sun rose she was greeted by a man who was a local blacksmith and given a place to sleep. His sins were that of wrath, a murderous rage that had caused him to leave the port of Vorsport and hide in Underwood, where the cult could eliminate those who would pursue him. In exchange he crafted Samantha’s sword, and gave her the chain shirt.

That had been when she first began her time as Warden. The year had hardened her as she instructed the man to get the cult elements to gather under cover of night. She had rested for most of the day, and kept to eating a small ration. While she was afforded some luxuries as Warden, they were not obligated to help her beyond giving her safe haven. With the end of her first day in Underwood the instructions had been clear, find the woman known as Lorelai Ravenheart and report back to Samantha when that task had been complete.

[Lorelei]

“Another! Please, miss, another!”

Lorelei didn’t know where the little street urchins came from, but there was a gaggle of them around her now, their hands tugging at her white cloak, their dusty faces looking up at her with gap-toothed smiles. She had thought that she would be allowed some solitude when she had found the courtyard of an abandoned wood mill, some peace and quiet from the daily bustle of Underwood so she could practice her archery. But no sooner than she had begun her training, children of just about all ages crept out of the woodwork, fascinated by her translucent bow. First they gaped in awe and clapped as she hit the stump on the other side of the yard with her blunt ice arrows, each projectile exploding in a myriad of crystals. But soon enough, children that they were, they wanted more of a show, and Lorelei was happy to oblige. It wasn’t because she particularly liked children – in fact she was rather indifferent towards them – but because she liked Underwood.

The town gave Letho and her a warm reception, despite the controversial past Letho had with the Rangers that claimed Underwood as their headquarters. There had been no shouts of accusation as they rode into town the day before the last, even though everyone clearly recognized the former Marshal. And there seemed to be no whispers behind their back either, for she had spent yesterday in the markets and received nothing but smiles and fair prices. Letho had warned her that things might not be as rosy as they seemed. There were bound to be people here that felt his departure from the Rangers at the peak of war was an unforgivable betrayal, a knife in the back of their cause, and he reckoned there were bound to be some that wanted to return the favor. But so far Lorelei found no trace of any ill intent towards the Ravenheart duo and enjoyed her exchanges with the local populace.

But it wasn’t just the people she was growing to like, but rather the town itself as well. Nestled in at the very heart of Concordia Forest, Underwood seemed like a place perfectly in tune with its surroundings. Most buildings were freshly built after the infamous Burning of Underwood, and their wooden walls still smelled of fresh tree sap. Mixed with the distinctive smell of dewy humus from the all-encompassing forest, it gave the whole place an organic and fresh scent which could scarcely be found anywhere else. Though it was architecturally rather mundane when compared to the stone-crafted majesty of cities such as Gisela or Radasanth, the simplicity was functional and honest rather than needlessly deceptive and ostentatious.

So enamored by this place, Lorelei had no qualms with offering the locals a bit of entertainment. The oldest amongst the gathered children – tyke in her early teens with pockmarks all over his cheeks – picked up a flat wood discus and tossed it in the air at the nod of her head. The teen sorceress followed the upwards trajectory, and when the piece of wood was about to reach the apogee of its trajectory, she released another ice arrow, setting the wood into a wild spin as it was ricocheted away.

Another round of claps ensued, this time accompanied by a number of much larger, sturdier hands. When she turned around, Lorelei could see that about a dozen grown men and women had gathered on the other side of the rickety fence, peering over it and watching her display. Another piece of wood went up, then another, her hands working in conjunction with her eyes as she summoned arrow after arrow and sent it flying. She missed a couple, but nobody seemed to mind. Only when exhaustion finally took her over and she found that she could summon no more arrows without being struck by a splitting headache did the children around her utter a sigh of disappointed. But when she turned to the gathered crowd and offered a theatrical bow, everyone rewarded her with another round of applause.

A few hands were still at the hem of her cloak, tugging this way and that, when a tall man detached himself from the crowd. “That’s enough, kids,” the stranger said as he approached. “Time to leave the miss alone and scram.”

They scattered readily enough as the man advanced towards them, and once Lorelei gave him a onceover, she understood why. Though he seemed only several years older than her, with barely enough sturdy light brown hairs on his chin to form a semblance of a beard, there was a Corone Rangers patch on the shoulder of his dark green jacket. His clear blue eyes regarded her closely once the little ones vacated the premises, and he offered her a smile to go along with his introduction.

“That was some shooting, miss. Quite a show,” he said, thumbs hooked at his leather belt. He offered a little bow as he stood before her. “I am Arten Greensbough, Junior Ranger.”

“Well met, Arten. I am Lor...”

“Lorelei Ravenheart, yes, I know. Everyone knows about the lovely daughter of the Red Marshal,” the ranger said, smile never leaving his lips. Though Lorelei was rather tall for her age, the young man before her was significantly taller, looking down at her with a look that brought a slight blush to her pale face. Not one to have a regular childhood with all its teenage charms and missteps, Lorelei was quite bewildered at how to respond to the compliment.

“Is...uh...Is there something I can help you with, Mister Greensbough?” she asked, dismissing her bow for the time being.

“Arten, please. And I hope so. See, Lorelei...May I call you Lorelei?” he asked, and continued before she even nodded in approval. “I’ve been told that despite my obvious qualities as a Ranger, I lack a bit in the archery compartment. And seeing as you are so masterful at the art, I was hoping for a few pointers.”

She was temporarily taken aback by the request. One of the Rangers, even a junior one, asking little old her for pointers? It took her a couple of moments of awkward silence to come up with a response.

“I, uh, I don’t think I can help you, Mist... Arten,” Lorelei finally managed.

“Is that so?” he asked, not masking his disappointment.

“Yes. What I do is as much sorcery as archery. I just point and shoot,” she said, summoning her bow again and pulling it back in demonstration. “There is no tension on the string, no form necessary to fire. In a way it’s much simpler than actual archery.”

She was selling herself a bit short there; it took significant mental focus to summon both the bow and the elemental arrows and then making them hit their mark. But Lorelei didn’t feel like Arten would be particularly interested in the way her magic operated. She whisked the bow away with another thought.

“Ah, well, that’s a shame then. Guess I’m stuck with that hardass, captain Tariel. Elves!” he said with a sigh of exasperation. “They certainly know their stuff, but boy do they go on about it.” He chuckled and Lorelei found it irresistible not to join in. She had gotten to know a couple of elves on her journeys and they did have a tendency to chew your ear off if you were not doing something the way they felt was right.

“Well, I wish you luck with that, Arten. Now, I think I should bid...”

He cut in before she managed to say her farewells: “Say, how busy are you right now? I’m having a bit of a get together with some friends out on the eaves of Underwood. We do some hunting, and if one of actually makes a kill, we light a little fire and do a spit roast.”

“I, uh, I’m not sure...” Again he got the teen sorceress on her back foot. At fifteen years of age, thirteen of which she had spent in a monastery, Lorelei Ravenheart had never been asked out by a boy. She could feel the heat fill her face to the point that she felt the tip of her ears were burning.

“Come on. It’ll be fun,” he said, then bent closer to her and added in a conspirational half-whisper: “And to tell you the truth, we need someone who can actually shoot. Last three times we went hunting, we wound up frying some sausages from the market.”

Lorelei wasn’t quite certain how to deal with this. In the years she had spent on the road, searching for her father, the teen had faced just about anything from roadside bandits to actual monsters. And all of those were easier to deal with than this young man’s invitation. She thought about her father’s warning to be wary of anything and everything, but after the days spent in Underwood, she was certain his caution was unwarranted. And she thought about asking him about this little escapade, but remembered that Letho would be indisposed for most of the day as he talked with Edward Stormcrow and the rest of the leadership of the Corone Rangers. She also thought about running away and never think about the fact that there was a young man here who wanted her company. But ultimately, she was a Revenheart, and the consensus was that they were made of sterner stuff.

“Very well,” she finally managed.

“Yeah?” Arten said, his smile widening. “Excellent. Just marvelous.”

“But I need to be back by nightfall.”

“Of course, of course. So let us away!”

They walked through the streets of Underwood at a leisurely pace with the gentle autumn sun shining down on them from amidst the white fluff of the clouds, with Arten doing most of the talking. The young man seemed to be an inexhaustible source of quips and anecdotes, always with a story about this particular place or that particular person. There was little doubt that he was local, and by the time they left the bustle of the town center behind and entered the ruins of what Arten dubbed “Old Underwood”, Lorelei was certain that she had made the right decision. Friends were a scarce commodity in the life of the young sorceress, and she had a feeling that this ranger might grow to be one. There was a refreshing lack of concern in everything he did, as if there was very little that actually bothered him, as if life was a raging river he alone was able to bridge with ease.

Even when they left the reconstructed town behind and the smell of soot overruled the freshness of the forest as they entered the charred remains of the old Underwood, his spirits didn’t seem to falter overmuch. “They say fire actually rained from the sky on the day this part of town was burned. Can you imagine that? Fire from the sky?!” Arten said as they made their way down one of the streets that weaved between the black skeletons of former buildings. “What sight it must’ve been.”

Lorelei wasn’t quite as fascinated as her companion by a possibility of a rain made of fire. Looking at the remains that surrounded them, she could imagine the fires coming down well enough, just as she was able to imagine the people trapped in all those wooden buildings as the world was swallowed by flames around them. There was nothing fascinating about that.

There was one thing, though, that Lorelei didn’t have to imagine, something that she would’ve been aware of if she had not be enraptured by her verbose companion. With the ruins all around them, the two of them were quite alone in the part of Underwood that seemed to be left as a sort of a monument to the strife against the Empire, a reminder of the destruction they had caused and the damage they had done to Underwood.

[Mask of the Warden]

“Warden,” The words cut through the blacksmith's shop in a panic, the man who uttered them rushing between anvils and racks of weaponry and armor. He was in a blind panic and Samantha had never seen a cultist act in such a way.

“Out with it, it's obviously important if you ran here to tell me,” the words were snapping with impatience at the delay. The man nodded and gulped more air before he was pulled up by the blacksmith, who Sam had come to know as Adrian.

“Stand up, you're not going to catch your breath like that,” The man snapped. The messenger nodded before he looked to Samantha and nodded one more time.

Samantha was sure the man would be dead soon if he didn't start talking.

“Arten, he found Lorelei,” The man began.

Samantha nodded before she spoke, “Good, why run back? You could have walked…” she paused before her eyes narrowed, “He didn't…”

The man suddenly hunched his shoulders like a struck dog before he said, “He and a few of his hunting friends are trying to get her on a hunt.”

He didn't even finish the comment before her sword was snatched off a nearby table. Quickly placed in the sheath on her side she looked to Adrian, “Every cultist, every god damn one that isn't in Arten’s circle needs to be where Lorelei is now. By the Dark Mother I'm going to kill that sick bastard if I get my hands on him! He's about to-”

She gripped her hand tight before she shook it and turned back to the messenger. Both hands clamped on the man’s shoulders, “Where is he taking her?”

“Old town, where the village was burned by Corone's Civil War,” He replied.

“You know the way?” she asked. He nodded before she pushed him towards the door, “You just volunteered to be my tour guide. Hurry, if he so much as scratches that girl I'm going to nail his head to the wall.”

Adrian moved elsewhere and a few men ran with Samantha and her messenger. There was no cries, not a shout between them. Some seemed to be excited for the prospect of killing, while others merely seemed to get more grim, preparing for the battle ahead. Old town was only a short distance from the smithy, but that was time Lorelei might not have.

Arten Greensbough was a hunter that had signed up to join the ranks of the Corone rangers. It hadn't taken long before someone from the Cult noticed his unnatural desires to hunt his fellow man. Such desires could have proven useful to Samantha, had he the ability to curtail them. More than once the Cult had bailed him out of situations, sacrificing other members as scapegoats for Arten’s crimes. He had shown up in reports often enough Samantha knew his name and had put him on a list of potential problems. Because that man was responsible for letting members of the Cult avoid deep patrols into Concordia, he had been allowed to live. Now, it seemed such mercy was spat upon, and for such men there was one sentence, the Dark Mother’s Forgiveness.

Samantha couldn't kill Arten, not for what he was doing today. She could however, make sure he learned to curtail his impulses or she would get that permission, even if it came post mortem. Hell, even a beating from Jeb would be worth it at this point. Lorelei had been a high priority conversion, and this man threatened to ruin the plot before it could begin.

The ruined cinders of Old Underwood stretched before her. Samantha came to a halt and scanned them hissing, “Fan out, if it has a dick and isn't Arten, kill it. I want that bastard found and brought to me alive. I need words with the hunter. All women should be contained but unharmed. They are not your prey.”

The Cultists grunted and spat out assent spreading through the ruins. Samantha moved down the center, leading the charge. It was a calculated move. If she found Lorelei first she would appear as a Savior, but to her men, leading the charge meant she wasn't going risking them on things she wouldn't do herself. She stopped spotting something and knelt, her eyes taking in signs of flight. These had to be Lorelei’s tracks erratic, uneven, not caring for the trail they left. Arten would have no trouble following such a trail.

She also saw the huntsman's boot prints. He was letting her tire herself out and taking it easy, avoiding the pitfalls of the forest while she could potentially hurt herself. What little emotion was left in her face drained as she felt the murderous rage fill her lithe frame. It took all her patience to remind herself that she couldn't kill Arten, he was a valued asset. She moved into the forest while the men scanned through the ruins, searching for what she knew they'd never find. A shrill whistle sounding off and letting her posse know where she was heading. They drew blades and moved into the forest with a cautious speed.

The hunter, had become the hunted.

[Lorelei]

Crazy...These people...Crazy! Gotta keep moving...Didn’t do anything... The disjointed thoughts fleeted through Lorelei’s head as her feet did the same across the forest floor, taking her on a mad dash that sent her stumbling through the foliage. There was already a cut above her right brow from where she had beamed her head on one of the branches, and multiple lacerations on her forearms only further stung with every brush she burst through. But the most concerning issue was that a stitch was developing in her side, a hot iron grip of invisible fingers pinching somewhere around her lower ribs with every step she took, but for the moment the pain was manageable. And the worst part of it all was that she didn’t even know why any of this was happening.

One moment everything had been perfect. They were leaving the blackened ruins of Old Underwood behind and the forest of Concordia was opening up before them, and Arten was funny and teasing and Lorelei was inwardly debating the possibility of falling in love with him. And then they entered the clearing and his friends popped up from the surrounding shrubbery, and they were all heavily camouflaged and looking at her as if they hadn’t eaten in a week and she was a cooked goose, and Arten changed. The jovial smile on his face distorted into a predatory grin that showed way too many teeth, and he no longer called her by her name, but dubbed her little doe. And he told the little doe that the hunt was on and that she was the prey, and that he was going to be fair and allow her a thirty seconds worth of a head start.

It took her by the count of five to come to terms with what was going on. By ten she summoned her bow only to find their own corporeal ones already trained on her, their mouths sniggering, their eyes full of bloodlust. By fifteen she was running.

Somewhere in hurricane that raged in her head there was the voice of her father, the unperturbed voice of the eternally stoic Letho Ravenheart, that tried to tell her that everything she was doing was wrong, that she was running headlong into the unknown all the while not even trying to cover her tracks or mislead her pursuit. But in the chaos dominated by thoughts of urgency and terror of the impending death, few of his words of advice were coming through. All Lorelei knew was that she desperately wanted to stay alive and the only way to do so was to outrun the hunters.

Think then. Think! the stringent voice commanded her. But for the moment it seemed impossible to think about anything save all those arrows that were maybe seconds away from piercing her flesh. And there was little Lorelei alone could do against that many. Call for help, was the next thought, and with each suggestion that made it past the horror in her head came a little bit of her composure back. Shouting out for help would do nothing save elicit jeers from those that chased her (and wouldn’t they be oh so thrilled to hear her cry out), Lorelei concluded as she stormed past the trees, breathing heavily. But there were other ways to attract attention, and there was one thing that folks of Underwood were particularly wary of.

“Heyo, little doe!” Arten’s voice came from somewhere behind her, playful as if they were still just two teenagers exchanging jokes under the gentle autumn sun. It didn’t sound particularly close, but sounds in forests were fickle and Arten undoubtedly knew that as well. “Where doth my little doe go?”

Anger filled her at these taunts and Lorelei latched onto it desperately; being angry right now was much better than being confused and afraid. Though she had never been a particularly violent person, right now every part of her wanted to turn the tables on Arten and put some hurt on him and his posse of murderous lunatics. She used that fury to fuel her magic as she summoned her bow with a blazing projectile already knocked against its thin bowstring. Pausing her rapid advance for just a moment, Lorelei’s eye scanned her surroundings for the tree most impacted by the brown decay of autumn.

Oak, oak, birch, aspen! the teen sorceress decided and fired her first arrow. The fiery missile lit several branches laden with yellow leaves as it passed through the crown before it struck the trunk. Satisfied to see the tree slowly going up in flames, Lorelei dashed deeper into the forest, lighting up several more on each side of her path and leaving a trail of dense smoke in her wake. Yet each arrow further taxed her mind just as every step further sapped her energy, and soon enough she was struggling for breath, careening and fighting a piercing headache and weakness that threatened to buckle her knees beneath her.

Just a little farther, she tried to fight through the fatigue with willpower, but there was only so much fuel her body could burn. She had to stop, just for a little bit, just to catch her breath. Ducking behind the massive roots of a half-dead oak, Lorelei collapsed on all fours and tried to breathe the fire out of her lungs. That strict voice that had an uncanny resemblance to her father’s was urging her to get up again, but for the moment she didn’t obey it, couldn’t even if she wanted to. At that moment Lorelei Ravenheart felt as if she would never get up again.

“And there she is, boys!” came the victorious call as Arten and several of his goons emerged from the thick smoke that slowly encroached upon Lorelei now that she paused her advance. He had replaced the dark green jacket of the Corone Rangers with a greenish robe that looked as if it was made of leaves and twigs. Even his face was painted with a similar color. “Our lost little doe. You’ve led us on quite a chase.”

“Leave me be!” Lorelei shouted, calling upon the spirit of the Steed and unleashing it upon her pursuer from her prone position. But such was her jadedness that even though her attack struck the man dead on, it merely made him recoil and make a step back, as if someone punched him in the chest.

“Feisty still,” Arten said, that smirk of lunacy back on his face. When he made a move towards her again, she fired another blast, but he ducked and weaved to the side, as fast as a lynx. And before she could even think of preparing another blast he was upon her. She pushed herself back on her feet and tried to dodge his attack, but she was slow and weak and he was quick and full of deadly vigor. His punch caught her in the gut, and such was his strength that he managed to lift her up on that single hand that made contact with her soft underbelly, swing her overhead and slam her against the ground.

Lorelei’s world was one of pain and lightning bolts flashing before her tightly shut eyes. Somewhere in the distance she heard Arten saying something about “tenderizing her some more”, but to her it seemed to be coming from a million miles away.

[Mask of the Warden]

It had been slow going. With night falling it was getting harder to trail her prey. The other men similarly were getting frustrated. If they couldn't find Arten and his wild hunt, Lorelei was as good as dead. The night was not making it any easier, and they Samantha was getting ready to commit to killing Arten for the death of the Marshal's Daughter. Without a sign of where she was, there would be no rescue.

Then fire erupted into the night.

Samantha's band gathered, she looked at them and ordered, “Follow the fire, that can't be Arten, he’s not foolish enough to attract attention to himself.”

She let them loose as she used the fire light to find more tracks. The girl had stood still before she moved forward, firing on other like trees. It had been fortunate that the fires erupted and gave Samantha all she needed. She moved through the smoke before she took a water skin to her shirt and wet it, bringing it to her mouth and began to breathe the water filtering the smoke. Her eyes stung but she persisted through the fire as the heat made her clothing too warm for the weather.

Moving deeper she heard Arten before she saw him, speaking of his little doe. The heat of anger carrying her as she moved forward. She saw shadows moving behind the men and picked a man herself to take. He wore a camouflage cloak that would have make him difficult to see, had it not been for the fire. She had to hand it to Lorelei, she thought well on her feet. Arten had no clue what he was up against

Stabbing her sword quietly into the ground she pulled a dagger, moving silently and hoped her movement would be hidden by the crackle of flame. The man Ashe stalked snickered at Arten toying with his prey. Oh, I'll give you something to laugh about…

Moving closer to the man, she saw the others approach their shadows and look to each other before with a nod they struck. Hands covered mouths as blades slit throats, the deed done. There was no time to cry out before the man was dying, Samantha hissed in his ear, “Dark Mother’s mercy for traitors.”

She quickly took off the man’s cloak and threw it about her shoulders, grabbing his both as the others followed suit. Arten seemed to be oblivious to the change of guard as they stood over half a dozen corpses. Samantha carefully grabbed her sword and sheathed it, holding the bow of her victim loosely in her hand.

Arten had thrown Lorelei violently to the ground and it was all Samantha could do not to act then, other cultists were replacing Arten's men, and she wanted to pull the noose tight against him. If any of his men survived he'd have something to stoke his ego. She needed ringtone Arten under her heel and make a point, the Cult of Blessed Torture was not to be ignored.

A sadistic smile crest up on her face as she watched Arten grandstand, knowing in a few moments she was going to crush his spirit. He seemed oblivious to what was going on with his friends.

As the fires burn brighter Samantha knew they'd have to strike soon, otherwise the people of Underwood would spot the fire and come running. She didn't want to explain how she knew what was going on and why she was attacking a Ranger trainee.

[Lorelei]

Pain was something Lorelei Ravenheart had gotten familiar with in her life, despite having lived through only fifteen years of it. They said that a woman’s life was one destined to be riddled with pain, both physical and emotional, and Lorelei had gotten a bitter taste of it on the day of her first period. Her abdomen had been stricken with such cramps that it felt as if someone grabbed a fistful of her innards and twisted it, and kept on doing so for days. The few abbesses amidst the Grey Monks whose ward the sorceress had been at the time helped as much as they could, made her drink salves and massaged the afflicted area, but ultimately the only solution was to ride it out. And though menstrual aches kept plaguing Lorelei ever since, no pain she subsequently experienced ever came close to that first onslaught that confined her to a bed. Until today. And it wasn’t just that first hit that caused it. It was all those other that came after it.

She had crawled back to her feet after another punch that doubled her over, straightening herself with a mewling whimper against the knot of pain that pulsated in her belly. The effort sent tears streaming down her face and earned her a mocking slow applause from Arten.

“You can take a punch. I love that in a woman,” Arten said jovially, a wicked smile that showed off way too many teeth plastered on his face. But though his countenance seemed relaxed, his body was poised to strike again. With his knees slightly bent and his feet wide apart, he seemed to be a blink away from hitting her again.

“Wh-why are you doing this?” Lorelei squeezed through clenched teeth. Her focus was shot, her magic all but spent, and fleeing was no longer an option. Smoke was thickening around them, a harbinger of the inferno she had started all around them, but Lorelei could see Arten’s lackeys all around the perimeter, their camouflage cloaks making them almost look like part of the scenery.

“Why do wolves feed on sheep?” the hunter said, shrugging. And then he came at her again, a dull green blur in the fading light of the day, the encroaching flames giving his visage a devilishly orange tint. Lorelei tried to put her guard up, tried to land a punch on his face as it came at her, but she never got within an inch of it. His hand clamped on her wrist with an iron grip even as she launched her attack, and he twisted her arm and pinned it to her back with both speed and remarkable fluidity. Pushing her wrist farther up her spine, it forced Lorelei back to the ground or risk a broken bone. Once her face was planted firmly in the dirt, he stomped one foot on the tangle of her hair, pinning her to the ground before he bent over and brought his lips to her ear. “Because they can.”

The kick that followed those words exploded against Lorelei’s stomach and made her roll over twice before she had a chance to ball up against the pain. She could feel the bile mixed with what was left of her last meal surge up her gullet and was unable to prevent it splurge out of her mouth. Arten snickered as Lorelei coughed out the last of the vomit.

“Well, this is certainly fun,” he said, rolling his shoulders forward once before he reached past the folds of his cloak and brought out a hunting knife. “But I’m afraid we have to cut this short. If you get my meaning.”

He walked towards her at a leisurely pace, flipping the knife in rhythm with his footsteps. Lorelei’s eyes darted to the knife, his face, his companions, desperate for a way out, for anything that would aid her with this situation. But there was only impending doom to be found. As their leader approached her with murder in his eyes and hand, his companions too came closer and narrowed the circle with every pace they made, silent sentinels seemingly just as eager to see her dead. Behind each of them there was a human-sized lump on the ground, as if they cast off their bodies and became wights. It seemed a fitting addition given the nightmare she was going through.

Lorelei knew it was over when Arten was upon her and his hands shot at her, one to grab her hair, the other to bring the knife across her throat. Yet still she reached out for the spirit of the Wiseman with sheer desperate instinct and grabbed at his corporeal arms with invisible ones of her own. And even though she felt no sorcery surge from her, somehow the man stopped in his tracks, his arms frozen just as they were about to descend upon her, his entire body halted in mid-motion.

It was only when Arten himself twisted his head to look behind him that Lorelei noticed gloved fingers clamped around his arms and a pair of pale grey eyes peering over his shoulder.

[Mask of the Warden]

“Mr. Greensbough, it appears you’ve been having fun without me…” Her voice held a wry tone, that belied the anger that warmed her belly. The Coronian Ranger turned to face his assailant, seeing the scar upon her cheek, the chain shirt, the blade and he back peddled a step. As he moved he bumped into on of the other cultists who blocked his retreat. Her glove covered hands reached up and pulled the cloak off, revealing the white haired woman to the clearing as she looked briefly at the cowering form of Lorelei. There was sympathy in her eyes before they hardened and turned to the now held ranger, “I don’t believe I gave you permission to talk to the girl, did I? I think my exact words were...” She looked up as if pondering, “Oh, yes ‘Find her and report back to me.’”

“W-warden, this is just a mis-” He never finished the phrase as she punched him across the jaw, cutting his rebuttal short.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t an apology I cannot be held responsible for what I do to you,” Samantha barked. She had full control of the situation now, and she felt a rush of euphoria at that fact. She tamped down on it holding onto her anger; she had a show to put on for the other cultists. This meeting would be a waning of what happened to those that defied the Warden. Samantha was instilling fear in the underlings, letting them know she was not to be ignored or trifled.

“Ms. Am-” Another fist cut off his words, he fell to the forest floor while the warden gently shook her hand and looked at it bored.

“Gag him. I’m tired of his voice,” Her hand hurt, and she finally understood why her father wore gauntlets. She would need a pair in the near future, the leather of her gloves was too thin. Arten opened his accursed mouth and lifted his voice only to be muffled as a man brought a rope with cloth wrapped around it into his mouth he then tied it tight. Perhaps too tight. Samantha wasn’t particularly in a caring mood when it came to Arten’s condition. She looked at him with a contemptuous gaze and shook her head, “When I speak, it is with the full authority of the Dark Mother. My orders are just that, orders, not suggestions. I hope you learn this lesson today Greensbough, or you will end up with your silly hunting club.”

She drew a dagger and sighed looking to the others, “Hold him down.” The nearest man nodded and clamped down on Arten’s shoulders as the hunter tried to speak through the gag. Tears streamed down the ranger's face while Samantha looked impassively down him, “If I have to come back here and deal with you again Arten Greensbough, it will be the last time. I’m marking you to remind all who look upon you that you are not the favored son you believe yourself.” Another man held Arten’s head before in a practiced maneuver Samantha drew the blade across his face and gently wiped the blood on his hunting coat.

Business concluded she drew her sword and stabbed it before Arten. With a gesture, the gag dropped from Arten’s mouth. Immediately he fell to the ground, groveling. Samantha saw the sycophancy in his acts. He knew he had been defeated and was hoping to survive. She ignored the putrid flow of words from his mouth when she moved to Lorelei and knelt, her demeanor become much more caring, “I must apologize Lorelei Ravenheart, I had hoped we’d meet under much better circumstances than this. My name is Samantha, and I represent a group that is usually more restrained in their actions than this. I assure you Arten Greensbough is by far the exception, rather than the rule.”

She looked the sorceress over before she clucked her tongue and said softly, “I’m sorry, this is going to hurt for about a week and then it’ll get better. At least he didn’t go for bones, but it still doesn’t make what he did right. I cannot punish him for this, he unfortunately is of some worth to us, even as depraved as he is.” Arten seemed to relax as he realize what was just said. A soft snicker escaping his lips as he realized the Warden had her hands tied and couldn’t act. A smug grin lit up his face, and he leered at Samantha.

“Chosen Warden and you can’t even police us...what a joke…” He threw at Samantha. She turned her head and glowered at Arten.

She gently reached a hand out to Lorelei, “However, you may. His life rests in your hands Ms. Ravenheart. If you should wish, he dies here and now, to torment others no more. If not, we can hand him to the authorities, or give him a head start in exile. While what he did is of no concern to my superiors, I can gift you the ability to judge him for his crimes against you.”

“WHAT!?” Arten called out, “This is ridiculous. She isn’t one of us; she has no right! You can’t be serious-”

“Someone shut him up, I’m having a hard time not killing him myself,” Samantha snapped. Her temper flaring before she carefully helped Lorelei up, “I give you three choices Ms. Ravenheart, choose Justice, and he dies here and now. Choose Forgiveness and we give him a day’s head start before I go after him. Give him a sporting chance,” A few snickers rose at the mention of forgiveness, “Choose Mercy, and we let the authorities deal with him. I will hand him over to his colleagues and they will determine what happens next. I know you’re not exactly in your best frame of mind, but consider carefully.”

Arten seemed fearful as he looked at the two women. Samantha met his gaze, “Please Warden, mercy on me. I’m sorry! I’m so so sorry!”

Samantha looked to Lorelei and gently patted her on the shoulder, “Take your time, don’t let his words deceive you. He’s quite the charmer when he needs to be, but you saw his true nature, you know who he is. Make your decisions based on that, rather than what he chooses to display now.”