The Bonds That Tie Us

[Shadras]

"Another comes,"

Vidar flung himself of Sindarin, spinning to face the newcomer with staff in hand and a strange, inhuman hiss emitting from him. He kept his emotions and magic in check. How did they notice? I was as silent as I could be, unless... he thought, the conclusion forming upon the tip of his tongue before the Elven woman stormed over. What struck him first were her ears. They weren't human ears, that was certain. In fact, he thought as he glanced over at Sindarin, he has very similar ears. Are they human, or not? Then her magic began. Despite his distance from magical sensing, he could feel her build up power in the earth. He didn't drop his camouflage, not yet. That was one of his greatest advantages was that she couldn't know that Vidar himself had magic. At least, she shouldn't. Bracing himself, he prepared himself for combat.

It didn't come. What followed instead was an extremely odd conversation. She accused him of being a spy, whatever that was. He said he was an outcast for saving a Nord while giving Vidar a glance, to which Vidar was equally confused. There were a couple dreams about what Nords, was it Fenrir, were and that they differed from other races, but he didn't really remember them, nor pay them that much attention. The sword and the strange blonde girl were far more important to the dreams. Along with keeping with Ara so that he could take the first step towards wherever he was going. Speaking of her, is she still alright?

The woman's magic was fading under her command. She also began her approach and Vidar was struck by a strange idea. What if she's forgotten I'm here. It was ludicrous to be sure, but her entire attention seemed to be focused on the man he had just apprehended and, if it stayed that way, it might just be possible...

He made his decision in a split second. While his unending natural curiosity would make him want to stay, it was being suppressed with everything else and made his original objective crystal clear: keep Ara in sight and be able to respond when needed. So as the strange woman advanced, he calmly retreated sideways, keeping both in his sight. He began to slink calmly and quietly into the depths of the grass again, hoping that neither one noticed him disappearing. The goal would be to slip around the side some ways until he could see Ara and the rest of the group again. As she reached the man, Vidar himself had almost disappeared again and her words towards the man, that he was alone, gave him hope that she had indeed forgotten about his entire existence. Which suited him just fine.

@MJK2431 @Valen

 

[Valen]

Sindarin senses rather than feels the others presence recede, so caught up was he in the elf woman's appearance. His own eyes and abilities gave him a limited ability to see through not just concealment, but also a limited ability to see in the dark. His golden eyes flash momentarily. The tendrils wrap themselves around him tightly. He feels his lungs constrict as they do. Breathing becomes more difficult and the corners of his vision begin to darken.

If this is where he is to die then so be it -- his only regret with his passing is that there are questions that remain unanswered......will forever remain unanswered.

The rocks then fall, and the tendrils loosen somewhat, although they remain around him keeping him in place. She walks towards him, and as she does, Sindarin swallows.

She is beautiful, just like another I once knew. The thought is replaced by sudden, impotent anger. Why can't I remember? Why can't I see? Sindarin begins to fear he will never find the answers he seeks.

At her words he looks to her with an appraising gaze.

"You are outcast too," he whispers softly. It was not a question.

Considering her questions, Sindarin looks to her. His silence hangs in the air like grains of sands trickling through an hourglass. Seconds pass. Finally, he raises his head. The action causes the cowl on his head to slip back, revealing......

"The gift they left me with," his voice is emotionless.

His face is scarred. One particularly virulent scar runs from the top of his head, down and up to his left eye. There are others, marking his face indelibly. It is like the masterwork of a deranged artist, his body the tapestry. The corners of his lips turn upwards into a bitter smile.

"I was born to a war-loving savage tribe. What acceptance do you think I would find in another region when my own people could not accept me, and when I look like this?" Sindarin looks down, closing his eyes. He shakes his head, "So I came to human lands, but the truth that I knew was that I wouldn't be accepted here either. So I went from place to place. A wanderer. A ghost. Until now." One of the other scars was still partially open. Some wounds never heal.

Swallowing, Sindarin looks up to meet her eyes again. He had his pride, if nothing else. "Would they," he whispers softly to her. Sindarin knew the truth of it. They would not -- his heritage and his marks would make it so.

And then the question came, the one that he knew was coming. Why should she trust him? An outcast.

Smiling bitterly once more, Sindarin continued to look at her. "You shouldn't, and nor will I beg for my freedom." Looking down to the tendrils that continued to bind him he added, "All I ask for is a quick, honourable death. It is all that any of us have left, is it not?"

As he waited for the other to decide his fate, he found himself wondering idly where the other presence had gone.

 

[Maeriel]

At the gates of the small village encircled in thick wooden logs forming a protective barrier, part wall, part palisade, were at this time shut. Alfhild had waited, thoughts churning, tension lingering. Would Deirdre keep to her word? Would she bring the others? Was this the beginning or the end of her quest for the Shaman, for the ancestral blade which could be salvation or doom to her people? Her people?!

Perhaps to her relief, Alfhild spotted the shield-maiden Deirdre coming alone. The misty silver light of the moon shone at her back just making the woman look larger, her form bulky with the thick grey wolf fur around her neck and shoulders, the thick cloak falling to her ankles, the soft clinking of her chain against the breastplate, dented, scratched, marked by wear and tear and obviously cobbled together from other owners, as were the vast majority of Fenrir armors these days. Hers fit better than most, but then again, the Scylfing had made their home in the tall ancient forests that had one belonged to the Elves and instead of razing it for logs like most men, they had made it their home. The ancient place had a life of its own and was rumored to be haunted. The orcs made many attacks, but they could never fully gain a foothold in the area, dubbed Arvidaud, and were not very successful in rooting out the clan. Overtime, most left were women, but they were as fierce as any male Scylfing.

Deirdre's solemn face became more visible as she approached the torches lighting the gates, Alfhild could swear she spotted a fleeting pained expression twisting the woman's young visage, but within a blink of the eyes it was gone. Deirdre nodded to the other woman, finger looped on the cord of her longbow and the other on the blade at her hip. A heavy satchel hung on the other and on her back, shield and quiver. It was more arsenal than most Fenrir could claim to possess these days.

"I am ready, Alfhild of the Thell. The night is dark and no more friendly than the day in these parts. I say we tread carefully and camp out of sight. I am a tracker and will keep my eyes open for signs of orcs and other creatures. Are you certain you wish to leave now?"

But Alfhild would not be dissuaded. And so the gates were pushed slightly open for the two to leave, the gloomy night embracing them. Mercifully, the the rain had stopped, leaving for them a muddy ground and a myriad of puddles to navigate around. Deirdre was steady on her feet and seem to always find a surer path to follow. In silence, they moved, few dared brave the night and their senses had been dedicated to keeping themselves safe. A few hours into the dark of night, Deirdre found traces of a recent orc patrol and declared herself too exhausted to go on. And so, the duo grudgingly found a place to set camp, a crevasse on a large rock outcropping indented deep enough to keep their fire hidden from most sides. Deirdre stirred the fire into an inviting burn, grey eyes flicking up to Alfhild.

"We have a long way ahead of us, Alfhild of the Thell. Tell me your tale. I've heard the north is more strict about their Thralls, and yet you claim to be one of the clan. It sounds to be that there is an interesting story behind that. I will tell you my tale if you tell me yours. Long is the path ahead of us, it would do us good to know with whom we travel. To whom we give our backs and trust our lives..."

@Shadras

 

[MJK2431]

Valerie gulped quietly, her gaze softening as he spoke. His wounds were very apparent, the lack of healing of the one and the blood that dripped from it bringing back more flashing memories of elves screaming as they attempted to run from fellow elves.

She could hear the truth in her voice and she so badly wanted to trust him…but she couldn’t bring herself to do it wholeheartedly just yet.

She answered him saying in a broken voice “Yes, I am an outcast. Not by my own people, but out of necessity for the enemy that has taken over my region….the enemy being your tribe and the Oberian one that they sided with. Their combined force was too great for our defences to stop them and their betrayal and ambush succeeded in them catching us off guard. It feels like years since I was there, but it has been but a month. I will return when I can take back Valoria for my tribe with whatever help I can get.”

Val loosened the tendrils once more, freeing him as she returned the vines to their previously puny state as weeds and flowering bushes.

“They….we….would have taken you in. We held no bad blood with your tribe until they stabbed us in the back without warning or reason despite our differences when it comes to war and peace. If you had come to us, you would have been welcomed with open arms.”

He surprised her by not begging for mercy or freedom and it was this ultimately that led her to believe him when he said he was not like his kin. She took a step back, sheathing her dagger before glancing down at him. Atylis’ words rang in her head, saying calmly “Do not make an enemy by forcing him to be like one. You will gain much more allies by simply treating them as such.”

She offered her hand to assist him up, saying truthfully but bluntly “I am sorry for my initial reaction, I have come to let hatred and revenge rule my thoughts much too frequently as of late. It has brought out a bitterness and anger in me that needs to be calmed.”

@Valen

 

[Shadras]

Alfhild's eyes flicked to Deidre's before finally sitting down and pulling out her bastard sword and a whetstone. The grinding sound of the stone on the blade began to ring into the night. To Deidre, the sword would appear to have no need of it right now. It was in excellent condition despite the obvious wear upon it and it appeared perfectly sharp. Yet Alfhild sat anyway, drawing the stone across it. It was almost a minute before she spoke.

"You'll have a part of my tale, for now. The full telling would take too long for this night," she said. Then thought, and I don't trust you with the whole story yet anyway. "I was born in a winter storm in a slave hovel. This was a some few years before we, the Thells, rebelled. On that night, I was given my only gift from my father, my name. Alfhild, fair warrior. Fair as elves, if that could be believed." She laughed as if she doubted such a claim. "Nothing is was ever given to me as a child. There was no first training sword, no teacher, save what I claimed or watched. I say claimed because, no matter what merit I earned, no matter how well I preformed, I never 'earned' anything in their sight. So I claimed things instead. If I were fast it enough, I'd grab it, strong enough, I'd keep it. What I claimed, I held through right of power." She laughed softly then, it was similar to the one before in that there was no mirth in it. No joy. Not even a twinkle in her icy eyes that were in shadow beneath her helm.

"Of course, I was a slave like everyone else. It was made most acute to me when I fought the other children. After all, we were the property of the orcs and damaged property must be paid for. So I was whipped, beaten, and abused. One time, the overseer decided I was too much and lashed my legs with a cat-o-nines thinking I'd die a painful, sickly death from the wounds and failing to be able to work in the fields. High spring with muddy fields. If I take off my leggings, you'll see the scars they left. He was quite shocked to see me the next day, pulling myself along on my arms alone although he doubtlessly comforted himself that my wounds would become infected with all the mud I dragged myself through. And they did indeed become infected and death may have come for me at last back then. But, as it is clear, the ancients weren't finished with me yet and I survived, recovered, and grew stronger. The children left me alone for some time after that."

She pauses for a moment, looking into the flames, recalling her last memory before saying, "then the rebellion happened. We Thells rose up to strike the oppressing Orcs. In its rush and whirl, I sought a chance at vengeance and glory. The overseer who had whipped so was dead already. But the master's house," she spat, "was being stormed, and I was with them. I grabbed a leg from a ruined table, seeking someone, any Orc to attack that hadn't been already by other Fenrir. I found one. An Orc boy my age, cowering in the corner a door makes when opened. I recognized him as one of the master's sons. He saw me and ran. I followed. I knocked him down. I bludgeoned his weeping, begging form while he tried to ward off blows. I bludgeoned him until his face was unrecognizable. I bludgeoned until his blood had splattered up my small form, dying my smock and face red. I bludgeoned until I heard a crack, which turned out to be his skull." Alfhild looked at Deidre then and said at the last, "I was seven."

She examined her sword and seemed satisfied as she resheathed the weapon and stood up. “That’ll be all for tonight, Deidre,” she said with a finality that warned Deidre against pushing it, “I’ll take the first watch so get some sleep. I’ll wake you in a couple hours. Then you can tell me the first part of your tale.” Throughout her telling, Alfhild seemed borderline emotionless, even at the most vivid parts. There was a slight undercoat of malice, but it was also well hidden beneath the empty ice wall of her words. Despite her detail, she had left out a few key points. Like who her father was to begin with. How he had never looked at her in all her life, save for when she was born. That, he had even been there when she had murdered the Orc boy and hadn’t spoken a single word upon it. She knew that her life of a Thrall had been worse than many others of the north due to her position. Then, of course, there was the matter that she had, for however brief a time, been a twin. Indeed, Alfhild had kept quite a bit to herself while telling Deidre the tale.

Alfhild stood up and leaned back against the rock, taking the role of a metal sentinel to keep watch.

@Maeriel

 

[inkdragon]

Isaac usually prided himself on his ability to keep his emotions under control. When his brother had taken his anger out on Isaac, Isaac had endured the beatings and the hatred. He had healed himself later and managed to forget how Carson's rejection had hurt worse than his fists. When his father's health had dipped from bad to worse and their harvest couldn't cover the cost of proper medical care, Isaac hadn't panicked. He had kept a calm head and buried himself in research, doing everything he could to help within his limited means. He was used to pushing through impossible situations, he was used to putting emotion on hold to do what had to be done, he was used to enduring.

But how in all the hells was he supposed to endure this? Pa dead, home behind him, Isaac found himself a fugitive of the Mage Hunters traveling through bandit territory with a strange group of men and women all turning on each other. The only one of his companions he truly trusted was currently breaking down, and while Isaac didn't begrudge her that, part of him wanted to scream- he was lost, too. But there was no one else in the group he even knew, no one to turn to. He had been spared the Mage Tower, and he was still thanking the goddess for it, but where would this group land him?

When Stavros and Illian began to argue, then, Isaac looked up, drawn by the possibility of more information. What he heard left him stunned, though it was nothing he had not already considered. So it was true, then, that the Tower had power over Ara still. And it was true also that Stavros had betrayed his order, for the sake of a few mages. It might have been naïve, but Isaac had neither reason nor desire to doubt the words. After all that had come to pass, he needed to see something good in the world. If that was what did him in, that need to trust, then he wasn't sure the world was worth much of anything, anyway. He didn't want to think of a time when there was truly no one left with decency in their heart. The elven woman, Valerie, ran off with words about someone approaching, but Isaac hung back. He wasn't about to leave Ara, and besides that, he didn't particularly want to plunge straight into danger.

"Is the plan simply to flee, then?" he asked hesitantly. Illian still made him uneasy, the man's magic leaving a rotten taste in Isaac's mouth, but he directed his attention to Stavros. "Before I was captured, I was going to run north, to try and reach the border. But if the Tower still has power over Ara, I don't know if we can get past the bounds of this lands." He bit his lip in nervous thought. "There's truly no way to break the spell? We have fo- three mages among our number, not including Ara herself. If we knew what we were trying to do, maybe together we could break the hold." He stopped himself before counting Illian as a Mage, unsure how the squire would react to such a label and unwilling to risk his anger.

 

[AJPhips]

The words of her sister sunk into Ara, and she couldn't help but remember her mother speaking similar words. She clung to the older girl as if she was her life line and sobbed, like she hadn't allowed herself to do in a fair few years. Whole hearty, all encompassing sobs and shook through her chest and shoulders. She allowed the tears to fall with no restraint, absorbed quickly into Elise's chest. She wasn't a monster. Lis' words radiated in her head. She was a kid, it wasn't her fault, she wasn't a monster. Ara attempted to slow her breathing, as she had been taught to as a child when she'd lose control. Back then her mother would hold her tight to her chest and Ara would match her breaths with her mother's and she listened to the comforting beating of her heart.
Now it was Lis who held her, and it was her heart and her breaths that guided Ara. The sobs continued but Ara could feel her magic lesson as it slowly melted back into dormancy.

@Maeriel

 

[Maeriel]

Elise held Ara tightly, smoothing her tousled hair she had cut only a few days earlier, when they met again, when they had a future, a home. It was never real. The realization came grimly to the discovery she was under such invasive surveillance and control. In fact, her sister running away might be the only reason why Elise wasn't being submitted to the same process right now. The quivering of Ara's strong destructive powers attempting to burst through its restraints started subsiding and the thrumming that had encompassed them faded. For a moment, Elise just consoled her crying sister, hating to see her in so much pain, but enjoying the familiarity of being able to be there for her, the simplicity of the bond that seemed not to have been broken despite so much after all.

The bittersweet moment was cut short by Valerie's dismissive words over such a grave matter, Elise's mood soured with the Elven maiden's apparent disregard for the horror of what was done to Ara and the grave danger it put them all in, the Elf patronising Stavros like a mother would a child who refused to share a toy with a sibling. The warning that they were not alone alerted Lis, but she was loathe to leave her sister, instead, shifting slightly to put herself between the source of danger and Ara and Isaac while Valerie brazenly and recklessly charged uphill with dagger in hand.

Isaac's words snapped her off from looking over her shoulder at the displays of power that no doubt cost the young elf a lot of her reserves of magical energy, bringing her back to what truly mattered. "Yes, he has a point, there must be something that we-" Her words were cut short by Illian's, for lack of a better word, tantrum. She was baffled by the youngsters callousness. Were Ara and Isaac the only ones capable of empathy here? Elise's answer came loud and with a degree of authority, though perhaps veering off greatly from what the two Mage Hunters expected from her.

"This is hardly the time indeed, or more specifically, hardly the point! To the both of you. Illian, you have all the right in the world to be upset at being wrenched from the life you were building, but can't you see that is the one thing that we all have in common here? You seem to have wanted to do something you deemed good with the gifts you were given, whatever those are, and rage at being robbed of purpose. Well, you can have a purpose and do something good right here and now! Have you no heart? Look at my sister... You heard what was done to her, surely you can see how twisted and vile that is and I cannot believe that you'd want to be associated with such a thing. If there is something you can do to help, please, I beg of you! Do it! You may have your reasons for hating me and want nothing to do with me, but you cannot be as cruel as to make my sister pay for my sins... "

Elise's honey eyes still glittered with tears that slowly trickled down her cheeks as she held and tried to soothe and protect Ara from something seemingly well beyond her powers. They were pleading, humbled eyes. Elise was a proud woman and had never once begged, not even when that collar branded the sensitive flesh of her throat. But for her little sister, she'd implore on her knees if it came to that...

@Scalerender @AJPhips @inkdragon @Shadras

 

[Scalerender]

Stavros was rapidly running out of patience at the chaos erupting around him. The fact they were not alone, the emotional charge in the air and Illian's tantrum were severely testing the limits of his composure. he turned away from Illian, hard and tired eyes looking at Isaac as the boy spoke. he sighed heavily, the irritation in his voice was not directed at Isaac but present none the less.

"I don't know for certain, the grafts used on Ara are not unfamiliar to me, in fact the man I was meeting in Braedon was one to have developed them but I am afraid he has either been killed or locked away. There is one other involved in developing the grafts, an elf by the name of Myrellion... Last I heard is became a hermit in one of the forests beyond the border but I...

"Stavros if you do not tell me what I deserve to know I will-"

"Shut up Illian!..." Stavros's rebuke made the young man wince, his temper growing hotter apparent by the reddening of his cheeks and clenching of his jaw.

Stavros sighed and shook his head, looking away from the boy and facing Elise. Everything about the man suggested he was expecting more grievances. As Elise made her emotional case towards his squire Stavros seemed to consider her words as well, Illian's fate had been tremendously affected by his own actions. Stavros sighed, his expression softening into a saddened look of contemplation.

He offered Illian a sideway glance, despite himself he still felt the coiling twist of anger towards the young man, his behaviour beneath the standards he had trained him to uphold. As such the pitch of condemnation was still present in his voice.

"She's right Illian, its done now...Ara is the true victim of all this and you need to move on.. Stop being selfish..."

Illian had been silent simmering after Stavros's previous rebuke. He sat on his horse like an angered child only barely able to keep the boiling fury inside of him contained. On some level he realised his emotions were completely out of control and in no way balanced with the actual reasons to be upset. It was the magic, all the magic around him moving and twisting like some slowly creeping entity...He hated it. Elise's words struck some cords and Illian looked at her and the young girl with compassion lurking behind furious eyes. perhaps if Stavros had weighed his words it would have been better.

Illian's look of shock bordered on disbelief, when STavros turned from him once more Illian gritted his teeth and kicked his steed into motion, reaching out for the Inquisitor.

He didn't mean to....

Moments before Illian's hand grabbed Stavros's shoulder light fractured and reality itself seemed to fold inwards around Illian's outstretched hand creating a warped distortion an inch or so around his grasping hand. The very second his hand touched his mentor's shoulder the knight suddenly arched his back, airs suddenly sucked out of his lungs and eyes going wide in absolute shock. His mouth opened to scream but he found himself unable to make a sound, chocking and gasping sharply in what could only be agony. The next second was worse...

All over Stavros's body bright white hot flames erupted with a blinding brilliance, like large deposits of sulphur were ignited under his clothing. It would be to quick to spot easily but the locations of the flares were oddly symmetric, as if the pattern of the sudden dispersal of magical energy was not at all random. Limbs, chest, back...the eruptions were numerousas well as equally sudden and violent.

Then Stavros finally screamed, it was a sudden, uncontrolled and icy scream of instinctive panic and agony. Stavros's steed mirrored the scream and raised on its hind-legs, throwing the experienced rider backwards with force. The Lord Inquisitor landed like a bag of flesh and bones with no reflexive attempt to roll with the fall or protect himself...he lay perfectly still, the eruptions smouldered into a weak multi coloured flames for a moment until they suddenly died out...in fact it looked more like the flames were sucked back into Stavros's body like they somehow belonged there. Alive or dead, he was no more then a wreck of a man with plumes of smoke slowly trailing from him.

Illian's rage disappeared like shadow before the sun, his eyes went wide in complete shock. He struggled to controll his horse which was equally startled by the sudden horrid display.

"S-STAVROS!!!.." He called out to the broken man ion the ground who seemed to give no apparent sign of life. To those sensitive to the current of magic it would be something of note that there was no actual surge of magic but rather a sudden and violent change in the already present current."I didn't mean to!!!" He managed to exclaim but otherwise paralysing in fear and shock at what he had just done.

 

[inkdragon]

The shock of the sudden turn of events only stalled Isaac for a fraction of a breath. He had seen the tension between the Inquisitor and his squire building, but he hadn't expected such an attack. It was strange that he hadn't felt a surge in Illian's magic throughout, but there was no time to think on it. Isaac's hands flew to his face to shield his eyes, but as soon as the blinding light was gone he was rushing forwards towards Stavros's still form.

"Get out of the way!" he snapped at Illian, dragging Stavros away from the spooked horses. "Get your damned horse back!" Stavros was dead weight in Isaac's arms, and he struggled under the weight, but the last thing the man needed was crush wounds from their hooves in addition to whatever injuries he had already sustained. When he had put a good couple meters between them and the danger, Isaac sank to the ground, rolling Stavros onto his back. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but whatever it was, it wasn't what he found.

While Stavros was older than most of their group, he had seemed strong and healthy, moving with a youthful energy remarkable for his age. Now, though, streaks of grey had appeared in his hair and his face had taken on an unhealthy pale, ashen complexion. His cheeks were sunken, and his face was lined with new wrinkles, giving him a gaunt, weakened look. It was if the man had aged ten, maybe twenty years in a matter of a moment.

Isaac shook himself out of his confused staring, quickly pressing two fingers beneath Stavros's chin to feel for a pulse. He was about to pull his hand back in defeat when he felt it, faint but there. The thump of a heart. "He's alive," Isaac breathed in amazed relief. He didn't waste another moment. The little experience he had with armor slowed him down, but once he had gotten the gorget and the heavy breastplate off, the rest was relatively simple. As he pulled away the final layer of cloth, Isaac sucked in a fast breath.

Scarred into Stavros's skin were several glyphs, similar though not identical to the ones that littered Ara's body. The skin around each was blackened and severely burned, as if the flames had come not from an external attack but from the glyphs themselves. Isaac swallowed the sick that came up in the back of his mouth. He had never tried to heal anything of this magnitude before, and the magical nature of the wounds made it all the more difficult. But this wasn't Pa, he reminded himself. By the time he had gotten to his father, it had already been too late. Here, he still stood a chance.

With a deep breath in and then out, Isaac firmly planted his hands on Stavros's bare chest and began to pour healing energy into the man's body. But something wasn't right. Instead of the easy flow of power Isaac was used to from healing, it almost felt as though the energy was being sucked from his hands before it reached its intended destination. The glyphs. They were leeching the magic nearly as fast as Isaac could channel it. Though they were healing, it was slow and laborious, each wound drawing twice the energy Isaac knew he should have had to give it.

Mind racing frantically, Isaac almost drew back the power. He didn't know if he had the strength to attempt this sort of healing ever, and definitely not then. At that moment, though, Stavros shifted on the ground, mumbling a few delirious, unintelligeable words. It was helping. Isaac couldn't stop now. He focused again, all his mind bent only on his task. The glyphs sucked in more energy than Isaac could believe was possible, but he refused to release the magic, even as his head swam dizzily. Stavros had betrayed his order to help Val, Elise and Ara, he had saved Isaac from the Mage Tower, he had left his whole life behind in the name of doing what was right. Mage Hunter or not, Stavros had proved his true colors. Isaac would be damned if he gave up now and let him die. Grey spots were creeping in along the edges of Isaac's vision, and he found the ground tipping up - no, he realized belatedly, he was falling. He reached out and broke his fall on his hands, though he couldn't keep himself upright. Only then did he release the stream of energy, unable to sustain the focus he needed to maintain its flow.

"...Stavros?" Isaac managed after an unknown period of time, voice slightly slurred and sounding to him like it was coming from far away. He pushed himself up on trembling arms to take a look at the man's face and was relieved to find it somewhat fuller, with some of its life back. The glyphs themselves seemed somewhat healed, though blackened veins still stretched out around them and they held an unhealthy red glow, as though they were leaking out the magic Isaac had just poured into them. "Stavros?" He felt for a pulse again, finding it stronger than before, though not where it needed to be. But that was all the energy Isaac had to give. It would need to be enough. That was his last bleary thought before the world tipped again. His eyes were closing of their own accord and he unwillingly sank into a deep sleep.

 

[Valen]

Finally the vegetation recedes. It is only at the point that Sindarin felt the pressure recede from his chest that he became painfully, acutely aware of just how close he had come to the girl killing him. Stumbling forwards, he lands on one knee and takes in deep, deep lungfuls of air. Nodding to the girl, not trusting himself to speak, he accepts her hand and climbs back to his feet. The memories that this encounter had unleashed were painful ones, and the scarred elf did not know fully how to react to them. Reaching up, he tugs the hood back over his face. Golden eyes flicker over to the area where the elf believes the other man to have stood only seconds ago.

Then, swallowing, he closes his eyes for a second as he recalls the dark times -- times he had thought were long lost to the ether. "Perhaps, perhaps not," he begins, considering his words. "Perhaps I would have arrived after the betrayal. Maybe I would have been greeted with a blade to the ribs." His voice was purposely kept emotionless. Emotion was not something he could consider -- not right now. "More importantly, I could not go to them. I needed to go to human lands myself. I had to know that the choices I made that led to my exile were the right ones."

Nodding his head to her, he adds, "Small comfort I know, but I'm guessing you understand me when I say that was the only thing I still had to cling to -- a sense that I did the right thing, irrespective of the consequences....." He sighs softly and looks down to the ground for a second. "Hatred, anger and revenge were at times the only things that kept me going. I let it eat away at me until......"

The scream suddenly tore through the clearing, destroying whatever words that Sindarin was forming on his torn lips. Glancing in surprise ahead to the source of the sound, his eyes darted back to Valerie.

"The mill....."

He immediately placed where the sound came from. Beginning to move towards the scream, he looks back to her, "Are there more of you....? In the mill?"

 

[MJK2431]

Valerie was helping the man up when she heard the sudden shout. She didn't pick up any form of panic or surprise within the outburst, but rather that the sound was laced with an intense, agonizing pain. She heard Sindarin's query, the elven maiden sprinting herself towards where the sound had come from.

It was Stavros who made that sound, I'm sure of it.

She was already weakened from the way her magic had vaguely spiraled out of control when she had seen the man's golden hues, the female feeling the stress of the immediate hard activity of sprinting on her fatigued resources. Her breathing was more labored than usual, her chest tight as she struggled up the incline.

"Yes, there was more...two knights, three mages. That one was one of the older males, but I heard no swords clashing....unless..." She opened up her mind to the ether of magic around them, the air feeling as if it had been struck by the sharpest of lightening bolts. Everything buzzed and was in state of panic, all of it centered around a particular person whom Valerie saw as they neared the crest of the hill. Illian looked like he was both shocked an devastated, the younger male who had been affiliated with Elise's sister bending over him. He collapsed as Valerie approached the group, the young elf rushing over to witness what had occurred.

When she reached Stavros, the sight of the markings burned in the flesh made her stomach roil and her last meal climb stubbornly into her throat. The female couldn't help but bring a hand to her mouth, the smelled of scorched flesh penetrating her senses and making her feel a little dizzy. The scent made her mind drift back to the ransacking and burning of homes as Valorians were murdered, but she swiftly shoved the thoughts aside.

Isaac was passed out, but still breathing. The elf bent down, gently moving his figure aside with an ease which with her appearance didn't seem likely. The girl then examined Stavros, finding herself the pulse that the younger male mage had been looking for earlier. "They're both still alive, but Isaac is going to be down and out for a while. He was sapped of energy to begin with and he's just about sucked himself dry keeping Stavros alive." Her words were clinical but dripping with concern, her furrowed brows showing her intense concentration as she struggled to see how she could help.

"Elise, could you fetch some water for Isaac? Stavros....Stavros is in a dire state. I think Isaac saved his life though." She could feel it still, that buzzing in the back of her mind as if magic had been magnified, electrified and then scattered like frightened deer. She could feel something else though, a sort of drying up of energy within the area around Stavros...and then she noticed the black veins stretching around the runes that had been branded on the older man.

How can I help him further? He may heal faster if anything Isaac did to help wasn't being used up before Stavros can utilize it in his healing....

"I, um....I think we need to move. We can't all stay here, not like this out in the open. The mill is too obvious a hiding place. Sindarin....you must know this terrain better than us, where can we go? Also, this may seem like an odd request, but back in my region we have this plant with multiple petals of a bright orange-yellow, Calendula, have you seen anything like that around? It may hasten his recovery. "

 

[Shadras]

Vidar was starting to move around the hill when he heard the scream of pain. He didn't think but moved hastily towards the sound, allowing his emotional barrier to fall. The shock to his system was immediate as everything came rushing back. Emotions of annoyance, joy, distrust, worry, surprise, and curiosity thrashed and blended with his senses and the feeling of spent magic for a few seconds before curiosity and worry won out. His magical presence shot out in a short shock wave. It didn't matter. Not to him anyway. What mattered was satisfying his curiosity as to who had been hurt and cure his worry that Ara, his pack member-to-be, was not being threatened. As he ran, he moved his finger along his staff until it reached the flower. With a life of its own, it latched onto Vidar's finger and crawled, spider-like, up his sleeve and out of sight.

He made certain to still circle round, mainly so that the strange people with pointed ears wouldn't face him when they had rushed off towards the other group. The sight that greeted him wasn't good. Ara was embraced with the one who claimed to be her sister in. A human custom reminiscent to a cub cuddled with its mother. Two were collapsed on the ground with the pointed eared woman trying to command the situation to an unknown degree of success. The remaining one on horse appeared as terrified as Ara had sounded sometimes, while the pointed ear man had just arrived on the scene itself.

Approaching cautiously but quickly towards Ara, stopping ten feet away. A soft hiss coming from underneath his collar along with the flower settling over his heart told him he was ready for whatever came. He'd have enough power to cause enough mayhem to get Ara out, if needed, or to help, if needed. So he said, in a solid, questioning tone, "Ara?"

@everyone

 

[AJPhips]

Ara span around so quickly at the cry that she only just remained standing. She hadn't been listening to the conversation going on beyond her and her sister, but it seemed now that she had missed something. The pretty lady was not longer there and the older man was lying incapacitated on the floor. Isaac was quick to rush to his assistance and Ara remembered how he had healed her feet with his magic. She had no doubt he'd help the man if he could. Isaac's collapse caused fear to shoot through her and she tore herself away from Lis to kneel by him, overwhelmed and unsure how to help. By this time they had been joined by several new people. The Elven lady was back along with a frightening looking stranger.
The words she spoke calmed Ara a little although she couldn't help but worry for the boy as she clutched his hand

Her attention was quickly drawn away from the prone boy at the sound of someone calling her name. There was Vidar, seeming a little uncertain but determined. In the mayhem she had forgotten all about the man, left him on the hillside to figure it out for himself.
"Vidar, I'm sorry." She breathed, "I'm fine, these are friends... I think."
She added the last as she eyed all the individuals present. She didn't like Stavros but he hadn't seemed to mean her real harm and the Elven lady seemed alright. The younger Mage Hunter stood a little away from the group looking frightened. By his words, Ara had figured him to have been the cause of Stavros' condition, but he also seemed appalled at what had happened. Without meaning to, Ara felt a touch of empathy flow out towards the young man. She knew what it was like to not be in control of your own power. Although Ara had always feared the Mage Hunters, she felt no fear towards this one. There was something in him, the uncertainty, something softer beneath the tough exterior. It intrigued Ara and she found herself staring at him as if she could figure him out with her eyes.

 

[Maeriel]

It all happened so fast. Elise cringed at the words Stavros used against the young Mage Hunter. You idiot... Then it happened. And what it was, Elise had no idea, it was all she could do to shield Ara and Isaac with her own body, averting her gaze at the blinding light and feeling the icy shriek of pain like a punch to her stomach. She sprung to action once Isaac brushed past her and shouted, going for Stavros who had been violently thrown off his horse and smoldered with the sickening stench of burnt flesh. Lis snatched the reigns of the spooked horse and tried to calm the beast, taking it to the squire, her own older horse lazily padding back and shaking its head, neighing. Elise came to Illian, shouting his name to call his attention from the depths of his shock, without sounding harsh. The woman recognized in the chaos that Illian was a big threat if he didn't calm down, regardless of Stavros' worrisome state. The youngster wasn't that different from Ara, even if the similarities seemed to end there.

Her pleasant voice was clipped, loud and decisive. "Illian! It was an accident, just an accident! Now you need to get a hold of your emotions! Like Ara, breathe, calm the turmoil! Your feelings fuel your power just like ours, no one else gets hurt today!"

Illian had been fumbling with the reigns of his horse and barely managed to calm Stavros's steed through almost mechanical actions, barely aware of what he was doing. He stared at Elise for a moment lost in panic and shock, her words resounded within his paralyzed mind. Just like ours.... It made something inside him recoil, hiss.. the anger was coming back and with it the vibration of the strange energy that fueled his gift. Illian's face started contorting into a sneer again but suddenly his eyes went wide, she was right...His disdain and anger had always fueled his gifts, every time he banished magic or manipulated its energies he felt hatred and contempt. The young man's expression cleared and he swallowed. The nod came hesitant but repeated itself with more confidence a moment later.

"A-Alright.. Just... Help him..." Illian glanced at Stavros but then looked away, the look of guilt and shame obvious.

For a moment that foreign resonance in the magic surged again, Elise braced herself, somehow this boy had magic she'd never seen, it didn't even feel like magic, and she could tell trying to use her own would not be a good idea, so she was going to face him on skill alone, which made her a much less capable fighter. Breath rushed from between her rose-colored lips as Illian settled and spoke and she gave him a nod, even if she had little experience in patching that kind of damage. Turning from what seemed to be the biggest problem, now well in hand, she came upon a much different sight. Stavros seemed to be looking less... dead... and Isaac was unconscious, being tended by Ara and Valerie. A stranger had appeared... an elf? and another, a Nord? No... Or is it? A Nord here?

Again Elise braced for combat, cursing herself for leaving her swords on her saddlebag, and drawing a large amount of magical energies, the blue tendrils of her magic coiling around her body before disappearing, leaving her stronger, harder and faster than a human can possibly be. She could feel the throbbing in her head, this was the last she could give and it would have to do. 'Fight dirty' the familiar voice of Pete rang in her mind as she raised her fists... but no one seemed alarmed, not even the skittish of them all, her sister. For a moment she exchanged looks with Ara, frowning. No one but Elise was on high alert... well... not true... the Nord had a tension to his stance that spoke of readiness, could he fight well with a blind eye?, she wondered.

"I, um....I think we need to move. We can't all stay here, not like this out in the open. The mill is too obvious a hiding place. Sindarin....you must know this terrain better than us, where can we go? Also, this may seem like an odd request, but back in my region we have this plant with multiple petals of a bright orange-yellow, Calendula, have you seen anything like that around? It may hasten his recovery. "

It took a moment for Elise to register Valerie's uncertain voice trying to get the ragtag group to get somewhere. The Elven maiden made a good point, but she'd not trust a stranger to lead her and Ara anywhere, whoever of the two newcomers that Sindarin fellow was.

"Yes, we have to move, if they can indeed do everything Stavros said they can at the tower, we cannot stay put for long, anywhere. We are not too far from Longbranch, the little village I..." she stopped herself from revealing to much in front of people she did not know. "... that I visited... There is a safe place I know not far." Her honey-colored eyes moved to the strangers as she went to help a mumbling, weakly moving Stavros up, a task she had no trouble performing with her magic. "Who in the name of the hag-queen are you two? ... You know what? Never mind that, if you know what's good for you, you best just leave and forgot you saw us, nothing good will happen to you if you don't, trust me..."

@everyone (Illian and Stavros' mentions in collaboration with @Scalerender )

 

[inkdragon]

Isaac groaned and muttered something incoherent, shifting on the ground as he started to wake up. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and throbbed dully in time with his heartbeat. When he went to open his eyes, the world was too bright and he was forced to slam them closed, trying again more slowly to allow them the chance to adjust.

The healing had taken more out of Isaac than he had realized he had given. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this weak. His whole body must have been made of lead, the world pulling him down and not letting him up. With magic beyond him for the moment Isaac was effectively pinned to the ground. He tried to sit, but his heavy limbs wouldn't cooperate. "Wha' 'appened?" he mumbled to the faces he could vaguely see silhouetted above him. "Stavros... 's he alright?"

 

[Valen]

Sindarin did not know what to make of the situation that he suddenly found himself in. Why, only this morning the mill was his and his alone. His own little hideaway from the world, a place that he could be alone with his scars, his demons, and whatever remained of his memories. Now, in the space of what seemed like it was only minutes, his world had been rudely interrupted by these strangers. First the strange man outside that had accosted him.

Do not save the Nord. If you do, nothing good will come from it.

I must. I cannot let him die.

Then the elven woman, who in approaching him seemed to dangle that tantalising glimpse of his past in front of him -- promising him answers he had been searching for as long as he could remember, and she didn't even know it yet. She had almost killed him with the power of her magic, believing him to be an enemy.

Am I not? Who am I? I don't even know anymore.

The sight he ended up being greeted with was one that even despite everything that had already happened, he was completely unprepared for. These.....these people. Where had they come from? Why were they here? What had happened to the man on the ground? The stench of magic was hanging in the air, that much he could discern. As the others glances were directed towards him, Sindarin felt ever more self-conscious than ever.

What must they think, staring upon the freakish, scarred mutant elf with golden eyes?

Shrinking back further, he wishes that he could pull the hood further over his face.....to obscure his scarred, mangled flesh completely. Would they set upon him with blade and spell, as others had done? Was this his fate -- to be greeted with common ignorance wherever it was that he travelled? Finally, it was Valerie's voice that snapped him out of the paralysis that gripped him so.

Sindarin....you must know this terrain better than us, where can we go? Also, this may seem like an odd request, but back in my region we have this plant with multiple petals of a bright orange-yellow, Calendula, have you seen anything like that around? It may hasten his recovery. "

Swallowing, he thinks.....but the only refuge that he can think of in this area was the mill. The very refuge that he had just lost. Reaching inside the folds of his shirt, he clutches the small lockbox and squeezes it tightly, as if by doing so it could provide him a way out of the predicament that he suddenly finds himself unexpectedly thrust into. He begins to reply, but the other, angry-looking black-haired woman speaks first.

"Yes, we have to move, if they can indeed do everything Stavros said they can at the tower, we cannot stay put for long, anywhere. We are not too far from Longbranch, the little village I..." she stopped herself from revealing to much in front of people she did not know. "... that I visited... There is a safe place I know not far." Her honey-colored eyes moved to the strangers as she went to help a mumbling, weakly moving Stavros up, a task she had no trouble performing with her magic. "Who in the name of the hag-queen are you two? ... You know what? Never mind that, if you know what's good for you, you best just leave and forgot you saw us, nothing good will happen to you if you don't, trust me..."

Licking his torn lips, Sindarin nods his head at her words. "Sindarin," he begins, introducing himself. "This is my...."

He begins to gesture. My home? Smiling bitterly, he stops halfway through his sentence, realising how completely and utterly desperate that sounds. Instead, he looks to Elise and he says, "There is little good happening to me anyway."

Under his hood there is a wry smile.

 

[Shadras]

If these are Ara's....friends....then they should be helped, he thought, But she only thinks they're friends. What could that mean? Theses troubling thoughts caused Vidar to hesitate for a second, before resolution drove him forward. Whatever the circumstances, Vidar's conscience would not allow him to let creatures suffer needlessly. Whether it was to put them out of their misery, or heal them from it, it didn't matter. He'd act. If Ara at least thought they were friends, then he'd aim to heal them. Ignoring Lis's question for the moment, he moved next to the horse the injured man was on. The Isaac fellow was stirring, he'd come to him in a minute.

Standing next to and staring at Stravos, Vidar's internal and external commentary blended together as he muttered ideas as to what could have happened to him. "Was it a shock or a..." fading into Nordic and then pausing as his voice turned strictly into thought, before returning to Nordic and, abruptly, common again, "...magic, certainly magic... but what kind?" At this point, Vidar was sweeping his staff over Stravos, trying to feel out the magical fluxes coming off of him before he suddenly paused, and thought, wait, I have people who can tell me what happened now... Then realizing he hadn't even answered Lis's question, rushed to correct it.

"I'm Ara's legs," Vidar said, addressing Lis, as if that explained everything. "I also doubt I could forget you all, considering the events of the last half-a-minute, and have absolutely no idea as to why I would leave. It's good to meet you...err...friends Ara think she has...a strange term." While saying this, Vidar had slung off his pack and was beginning to pear through it before he sharply pointed his staff at Illian and said, "You, tell me exactly what happened. Every detail, every emotion." He then added, as an afterthought, "please."

@everyone

 

[Scalerender]

Illian had swiftly dismounted after his short conversation with Elise, holding on to the reigns of both his and Stavros's steed. Until his mentor showed any sign of life he was simply staring frightened and shocked almost forgetting to breathe. His posture slumped and he exhaled relieved when Stavros started moving again and he placed his free gloved hand on his forehead and then rubbed his face while he discharged the tension that was building once more. His eyes met those of Ara for a moment when he looked back up, staring into the young woman's orbs without his usual prejudice and anger Ara is the true victim of all this... Stavros's "last" words struck him with a stab. He looked down, breaking the eye-contact and turned his face away is shame...what had he become?

The strangers's arrival had been more of a background event at first, barely registering their appearance as he was slowly being consumed by his own conscience and inner turmoil. Vidar suddenly calling him out was received like a slap in the face and once he noticed the strange figure near Stavros his hackles rose. In a flash of his by now infamous temper he surged forward, stopped only by the hesitation of the two steeds he held by the reigns."HEY! STAY A-.." Illian began but paused, this is how accidents happen Illian thought. he swallowed. "J-just be careful..He's hurt..." He went on more carefully, anger and frustration still coloring the pitch of his voice.

You, tell me exactly what happened. Every detail, every emotion." He then added, as an afterthought, "please."

Instinctively Illian glanced at his mentor to see his opinion, instead he was only reminded of his actions by seein Stavros's burnt and injured form. The man that seemed invulnerable and out of reach to any wishing him harm now stumbling around like some battlefield injury narrowly saved from death's door. Illian clenched his jaw and sighed sharply, looking back at the man he could only picture as being some sort of shaman or witch/warlock like his mother was accused of being. He responded, but it was clipped and harsh. "I was angry. I wasn't done yet. There was too much magic. That's about it....

Stavros stumbled along with whomever guided him, while his usual vitality had returned somewhat he still seemed terribly weakened by whatever effect Illian had caused on the strange yet familliar glyphs that erupted all over his body. He mumbled incoherently, eyes opening only to close again after a moment, eyes rolling back as he was close to falling unconscious once more. In an apparent lucid moment he grabbed Elise's wrist, his grasp firm and strong. He looked straight at her and simply said."Don't let them get Illian....."And then he simply passed out again, con continuously struggling for any semblance of consciousness.

 

[Maeriel]

It was comforting to see Isaac getting back to consciousness in Val's and Ara's care. The young man was truly a good person - as far as she could tell in her short time around him - and practically speaking, one capable of such feats as healing a man from the brink of death was definitely good to have around when escaping such authorities like the Mage Hunters... especially if they'd need to head in the direction of the Elven forest after this Myrellion person Stavros had mentioned before being cut-off. Valerie had spoken about a state of civil war, Kherandor was the last place she wanted to go... then again, Nordholm was not an option either. The task felt daunting... where to go? Duras, to the Dwarven underground holds? What would they do there? Across the South Sea into uncharted lands? Too risky... Ara shouldn't have to pay for her sister's sins...

The strange tall and broad man stayed quiet, but the scarred and wounded one spoke. His words were strangely striking, his aura was positively somber and judging by the fact that Valerie had brought him along, he didn't seem like the threatening sort. She had no time to lose, if the man wanted to follow, then it was his problem, as long as Sindarin didn't make it her problem, they'd get along fine. As she carried, Stavros, Lis had to stop him from falling twice, weak knees giving out and consciousness nearly slipping away again. She was pondering just picking him up like some sort of newly wed bride when the large man in tattered garb approached. Ara's legs? Oh great, a crazy person. Elise exchanged questioning glances with her sister and then the man was waving his staff and she could feel a probing push in the magic around them. 'Ara's Legs' questioned Illian and then Elise felt Stavros' grip firm and strong on her wrist, almost causing her to have an unfriendly reaction.

"Don't let them get Illian....."And then he simply passed out again,

Elise finally scooped Stavros between her arms, a man his size should not be so easily held by a woman like her, but her magic thrummed around them a s continuous ripple. The young woman was in a bit of contemplation, pondering who 'them' were and also, the more practical matter of getting everyone on the horses and moving out to the hidden little cabin, where Guild members would stay when in dire straits, in the nearby woods. She winces a bit looking down on the ruined chest of the man in her arms, her thoughts going to the healing salve she had brought along for Ara, whose feet should be wrecked after walking around barefooted. Was that what he meant with 'Ara's feet?' Did he carry her like I'm carrying this man? Who the hell is he? Elise finally looked at Illian, the young man obviously having issues with his temper still and she spoke to call his attention.

"Illian. You are a grown man, you've got it well in hand now, yes? Can I rely on you here? We need to leave this place, I'll have to carry Stavros on the horse, I see no way around it with his weight. He's too injured to toss over the horse and you don't want to be the one doing it. Can you hold him upright while I get on his horse and then pick him up? You'll have to help Val and Isaac to her own steed and my sister should be able to stay on top of my mount, he's old and docile enough. Tie him to my horse and ride near me, in case I need help, but you must control your temper for now. There is a time for everything. Get it? "

Illian looked at the woman, the criminal ... the murderer, his fists and jaw clenched, then he sighed before it came to that again. he was getting a headache from the surges of tension and emotion. For a brief moment the young man seemed to be able to let go, albeit it being with a defeated sigh. "Yes...I think I can manage..." He responded to her, part of him wanted to call her out, bark at her and treat her like the... like the what, Illian? You nearly murdered Stavros because you where angry, what makes me any better than her... Illian did as requested, helping Elise, Ara, Val. He was silent, focused on what needed to be done and for now dismissing his own personal issues.

It wasn't hard to get Stavros on the horse, regardless of the unwieldy position of dragging a grown, unconscious man up on a horse by his armpits. She sat him across her lap, leaning him on her shoulder, its arm holding the reigns while the other held the Inquisitor. It was uncomfortable for her in many ways, not the least of which was the close proximity to a man she barely knew, a Mage Hunter at that. Elise brushed it aside as she looked to the two newcomers. "I have no time to discuss these matters with you. Know that if you choose to come with us you choose to be on the run and in danger. You come, you are with us, and if you turn your back on any of us, I'll hunt you myself. If those terms still do not dissuade you, then... well... welcome to this crazy group. Now if you don't mind, we have somewhere to go and two people in need of care." Lis was obviously in a hurry and would not accept delaying the slow trip they had ahead of them any longer.