[center][b]Carnival of Chaos[/b] – [url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/1215/posts/ooc?page=3#post-25802]Tristan Whitemarch[/url][/center]

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[i]“Come on, move!” Tristan hissed at his siblings as they crept inside the fabled ‘Spooky Manor’ of their town. The moon was the only light guiding them; which was just as well because if any of the guards saw them they would be hauled back to their mansion and scolded till their ears bled. Tristan’s grin spread from ear to ear as they approached the entrance despite the manor’s fiendish appearance, then the rotted wood doors swallowed the children as they snuck inside. [/i]

Tristan smiled at the memory. The Whitemarch kids had spent a night there joking and laughing in the manor. It turned out that the manor wasn’t nearly as ‘spooky’ as the others had claimed it to be. The village of Arian however was a notch bleaker than an abandoned manor. Bad omens plagued them at every turn, and the oppressiveness of the invisible eyes increased as they went near the village. Any doubt about the report that a ranger had gone mad here had vanished in Tristan’s mind. He felt half mad himself. Through the entire trip General Wolfblood was deep in thought and disinclined to chatter, and Aneura was the same. Tristan was a social at heart, and having no one to share his anxieties with just increased his tension. No one in his party was social however, and his brother…

He had been avoiding his brother the entire trip, though to not much success. Every time they needed to get supplies from a new town he would volunteer, and he would also volunteer to scout the road ahead. He supposed to had no one to blame for the social isolation but himself, but spending hours on end just walking and watching the crows stare accusingly at Tristan was fraying his nerves. Firing at crows with his slingshot did nothing to discourage them, which disquieted Tristan more. The recurring dream about the witch of his childhood who had prophesied his fate threatened even the restfulness of his sleep. 

[i]“A murderer of brothers once, to be twicefold”[/i]

He could still hear her voice; a papery and withered sound that he soon forgot in his youth but resurfaced in his dreams in the recent days. He wondered if the gods were punishing him for his actions, but then he remembered that there were none left.

 Cristoff had stopped talking to Tristan. Sometimes Tristan wondered whether that meant his brother had decided that he was guilty of killing Devan. That thought terrified Tristan more than any of the terrors that had befallen their party. He didn’t want to have to face Cristoff if he ever found out what had happened. The brothers’ relationship had fallen out a long way from when they were children exploring the forbidden parts of their estate. If it came to an argument… no. He would have to avoid any confrontations with Cristoff. He [i]would not[/i] kill Cristoff, no matter what old woman had said. He was Tristan’s only brother left, and he would rather go to where the gods had than allow Cristoff to come to harm. If that meant severing his relationship with Cristoff, so be it.

After Aneura suggested that they search the closest establishment, Tristan nodded in agreement. If there was any clue as to what had befallen the village, it was best they find it first before going all the way into the town center where there could be a hundred enemies surrounding them. At least now they could still retreat should there be any signs of trouble. They should have bought horses, Tristan thought, but at this point it was too late to go back and acquire any. They would have to make do with their wits. Tristan drew his slingshot from his belt and loaded it with a lead ball from his belt pouch. It was made of hard oak, though pieces of iron had been attached to the two ends to hold the elastic in place. Tristan had spare elastic in his backpack which also kept enough provisions for the trip back to the nearest town. He decided to not use his rifle which he kept slung around his shoulder due to the close quarters of the town. He would not get enough time to stow it away before he could unsheathe his sword and equip his buckler should anyone decide to charge him. The final piece of equipment he had on him was a small dirk he hid in his right boot; as an emergency weapon.

The slingshot pointed to the ground as Tristan followed the group. He stayed in the back; always making sure to keep an eye on General Wolfblood. It was one of the primary objectives of this mission to ensure his wellbeing and although he was pretty sure Wolfblood could handle his own, the trap had been seemingly made to ensnare the general. Tristan also needed to ensure that he himself didn’t get the brunt of the attack; he was best at range and not fighting in the front lines, and the boiled leather armor he opted for this mission gave him more mobility than plate, but couldn’t withstand as much. As Aneura knocked the door, Tristan gave his surroundings a scan to make sure that they weren’t being flanked by anyone… or anything.