[i]I'll apologize in advance for any lack of creativity, percieved skill, or any not met expectations. This is really my first in character post of any level for about a year and a half.[/i]

[h3][center] ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Hamelyn Jaegar ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ [/center][/h3]

Raithen sighed. Crow’s feet wrinkling, his eyes narrowed. The fingers of his bear paw sized hand constricted as if closing around some spherical object in his hand. Clearing his throat, Raithen turned his head spitting to the ground. A trickle of spittle dripping from the corner of his mouth, tinted red. Without a second thought Raithen wiped the open palm on the tarnished steel of his breastplate. This too left a crimson residue across his chest. 

Raithen had never allowed his condition, Frost Lung, to prevent the furtherance of his existence. As with any number of men like him, members of the nomadic tribes of the frozen north traveling with the movement of prey. However, that was not to suggest that it did not prevent him from moving forward at all. Made worse by the colder climates and the moist air, Raithen had struggled to survive to this day. The elders of the tribes made it clear that tea brewed from the powdered horn of the dire ibex would satiate the effects of Frost Lung. But it would never be cured. Not by means available to them. 

Eventually, it would become nigh impossible to catch his breath. His lungs would feel heavy, weighed down as they began to fill with the frost. He struggled to do the most simple tasks. Even crawling out of his bedroll would be difficult. Then he would fall behind. No, Raithen would be left behind as to not slow down the tribe. Without anyone that felt beholden to him through familial ties or some level of love, Raithen would be left to die as exposure to the elements erased him from existence to await remembrance as a faded memory. 

[color=green]“Raithen,”[/color] Szazah growled step forward from the back of his tent. 

Raithen reached forward to clasp Szazah by the wrists. Imprisoned together for so long did not help build the level of trust that Szazah might have had for him. Raithen with his bear sized hand latched around his fellow prisoner of war’s wrist with a brisk squeeze as if shaking hands. It would be apparent that Raithen was check for weapons, just in case. 

[color=darkolivegreen]“I know of these elves, the Shadowwald.”[/color] Raithen spoke moving forward into the tent and away from the damp air of the ran. Szazah scoffed.

A small fire centered the tent. Torches on opposite ends poorly illuminating the surroundings shrouded in shadow. The seating arraignments were nonexistent, as the only stool present had been placed there for Szazah’s benefit. Raithen found himself pawing at a wrack of weapons that had been positioned against one of the “walls” of the tent.

[color=darkolivegreen]“Do you think it was by coincidence that we found ourselves imprisoned together?”[/color] Raithen did not wait for an answer. [color=darkolivegreen]“They were well aware that I was familiar with the Shadowwald. But they were not willing to accept just how limited my knowledge had been.”[/color]

Raithen moved towards the fire. The heat to warm his bones. The dry air to soothe his addled lungs. [color=darkolivegreen]“I had been separated from the tribe for nearly a week. It had been far too long. We were on the trail of a herd of caribou when the blizzard hit. In the open snow fields it is a death sentence to remain motionless. I was on my last breath when the Shadowwald appeared. Three of them clad in nothing but fur. They moved on the snow as if they weighed nothing.”[/color]

Raithen’s tale was met with a somber laughter, a nervous chuckled that conveyed belief and disbelief. 

[color=darkolivegreen]“It was the Shadowwald. When I woke up, I had been tented, under the cover of a shallow grove. The blizzard had nearly diminished. Tea had been left for me, still warm to the touch. If not for them I’d certainly have been dead.”[/color]

[color=green]“Now you live to suffer through your affliction another day.”[/color] Szazah retorted. 

Their eyes met. Raithen carried with him a venomous gaze, his blood boiling at the thought of being called a liar yet again. It did not matter. His knowledge of the Shadowwald had been too much or too little - too make believe or too realistic. Whenever the elves of the frozen north were concerned it mattered little how much truth had really been in the matter. 

[color=darkolivegreen]“Now if you’d be so kind as to deliver my payment? I’m not risking my life for this walking feast without reassurance in the slightest.”[/color] 

[h3][center] ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ [/center][/h3] 

[i]Summary: Fuck you. Pay me.[/i]