In his week of travel with the Glamhoth warriors, Walden had learned a bit about their culture and had grown more curious about their customs. He knew they liked to drink and usually were brawlers, but under Hrossbjorn they had become something else. Still violent and drinkers but something new. If their leader survived he could very well shape how the Glamhoth fought future wars, even with their defeat by the Lavas, and the defeat by the Mad King. Flashes of lighting in the distance suggested a possibly rainshower headed their way. It wouldn’t increase the declining moral within the group. Things were not so bad yet, but he’d seen what one mishap after another could lead to. Desertion or, worse treachery because even the most loyal warrior has a breaking point. They had stopped outside of a village, the scouts of the party had been sent ahead and one behind. It seemed now they were waiting on the return of the rear scout although he was supposedly late. Walden had never been exposed to this part of leadership before. He was used to being called upon when needed and dismissed while he had been serving with Free Men of Lavas, a mercenary company. Hrossbjorn and Gyrid, a woman who seemed suspicious of him, were at the head of the group. A small few of them were talking in their native tongue, and even chuckling a bit. 


Walden eyed the village ahead, it seemed quiet, far too quiet even for a place of its size. There should at least be children outside, or women and men attending to chores. Not even the smallest mammal stirred within the deserted streets. A light wind was raised, which rustled his cloak slightly, a reminder that the clouds on the horizon were approaching. He raised his hand to allow his thumb to lightly run over the hastily done sutures, They would need to be pulled out in a week's worth of time he estimated, as the wound had healed slightly faster than anticipated by the mock surgeon who had done the handy work. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the sight of the brown toned woman. 


She caused him some worry, as a purifier she would be his natural enemy. His worry was not that she would defeat him if she dared challenge him. His extra twenty-eight years of experience as a mage would easily give him the upper hand. His worry was being exposed for what he was, a black mage, and necromancer. Very few would willing travel with a person such as himself. At the same time this thought finished he remembered the contents of his pack, the tome itself. It was never far from his thoughts, and he had so much more to learn. His original intent was to understand everything the book had to offer, and eventually publish his own writings on it and dispose of the book so that others wouldn’t feel the same desires as he does. But now, he wasn’t so sure what he intended on doing with the book when he finished, every day he could feel the inner struggle between the book and himself. It would be dire for those around him if he fell to the book. Those that had come before him had given up their souls in exchange for power, but the hidden cost had been becoming the servant of something dark. Something that no words could describe. 


He snapped back to reality, their leader was now having a very serious discussion with his female counterpart. From what one of the soldiers had told him, she was some type of priestess. The soldier said it as if he should know. It was something that never had come up on his conversations around the campfires with those would join him. Their hissed whispers meant they were discussing something that wouldn’t be shared with the rest of the party. He didn’t really care much for what the company was doing or was going to do. His plan was to find a suitable place to stop off, and leave them in the middle of the night. The longer he traveled with the group the higher the risk of him getting caught was. 


His mind went back to those around him, in particular another new member to the group. An odd elf, with something amiss about them. Although he hadn’t been traveling with this person for very long, he felt they would need more observation for him to pinpoint what was different about them. Something familiar and something not at the same time. 


Finally Hrossbjorn turned and spoke to the group although he must have forgotten not all of them could speak Glamhoth, and so he listened with mild content at the wall of foreign words that were hurled at him. Eventually he spoke in common,[i] “If you do wander off or do something stupid, my men and I will save you from whatever is trying to kill you only to have Gyrid kill you.”[/i] The Earl delivered grimly. Walden scoffed lightly to himself. He had the power to burn shadows into the ground and these men with shield and spear thought they would be his savior. What his kind and generous host didn’t know is that he had years of practice fighting the beasts that went bump in the night, and he’d witnessed first hand things that would cause a lesser man to flee with terror. 

[i][b]"I suppose I had better mind my P's and Q's then."[/b][/i] he said to no one in particular. He was very fluent in common and Lavas, and even knew a bit of Firen although for a lack of better words he was not well equipped in that exact language. 


The group began its slow crawl forwards. Every time a party took to a formation things seemed to slow down. But it's better to be safe than sorry he supposed. In his mind he formed the characters for a spell, a very potent one. A bolt of fire so hot it would turn sand to glass and melt stone. In reserve of that he had a spell that would light up the darkness, blinding creatures of ill repute and harmed those who were with him as long as they were not bound by darkness in any manor.