[center][IMG]http://i64.tinypic.com/2j3fmsm.jpg[/IMG]

The stenches of rot and ruin were not as bad as the reek of cities, Lua had come to know, and Kenfort would apparently be no different. The smell grew with the morning light and the persistent drizzle did nothing to ease the mounting stench. As they neared Kenfort, Lua noticed that the stagnant air was increasingly saturated with something more perturbing than just the smell of shit, something rain couldn't wash away. She groaned. 

Apprehension tingled in her hands and feet, working its way up her limbs. Lua shifted in her saddle and her chainmail tunic rattled. Around her waist, there was a thick black belt with two curved short-swords attached. She rolled her right shoulder to adjust the pauldron resting there. The unfamiliar weight of new armor was always uncomfortable for a while. A red and black crest skillfully painted on the rounded metal was already marred with a fresh scratch. The mismatched piece covering her opposite shoulder was heavily scuffed and dented; cracked leather straps barely held it in place. It needed to be repaired or replaced, but refugees were poor employers and a Raven Lord's purse was perpetually light. 

Lua brushed dampened hairs from her face with a black-gloved hand. A scrap of leather held most of her dark hair back, but the shoulder-length strands were quickly coming loose. A single glance at the refugees walking beside her, vulnerable in only their ragged clothes, reminded Lua how fortunate she was to be so uncomfortably well-armored. The survivor's faces were the most difficult for her to look at, though. They were dirtied, bloodied, and expressionless as they slogged through the mud while the Raven Lords shepherded them towards safer pastures. Their blank stares, aimed not quite at the ground, not quite at the sky, told her that they were reliving the horrors they'd just escaped. Not nearly enough time had passed for Lua since she'd been so much like them and her own features soon took on the same slack expression. One hand left the reins and her fingers repeatedly stroked the tanned scar running along her hairline. In her mind's eye, distorted images were taking shape. 

Fire, metal, screams, fire, metal- 

A sudden bark snapped the young woman from her unpleasant memories. Her hand quickly returned to the reins. The dog's noises seemed muted, stifled by the weight of the air, but still the animal's aggression was unmistakable, an early harbinger of the Curse. Leather creaked against leather as her hands tightened anxiously around the reins. Whatever peace the survivors hoped to find here would undoubtedly be short-lived. Ahead of her, Lord Barrett looked over his shoulder at her and gave a slight nod towards the front of the group. Lua's boot-heels dug into her mount's ribs and the unremarkable beast quickened its pace. The swords hanging from her belt bounced in time with each trotted stride. The old raven pulled ahead of the refugees and she was close behind. 

Just before they reached the gate, she pulled up the red cloth encircling her neck, covering her mouth and nose against the stench now burning her nostrils. Behind her mask, she smirked at the exchange between Lucian and the guards. Her mouth was hidden, but the glint in her dark eyes betrayed her amusement. Few argued with Lord Barrett, and none for long. There was some fun to be had, though, in guessing whether those who tried would survive the quarrel. The Kenfort men were smarter than they looked, though, and quickly acquiesced. Lua felt a pang of disappointment.  

Through the opened gates, the church's pointed steeple made a towering silhouette over the nearby buildings and the refugees shuffled towards it, following the old Raven's instructions. The news relayed to Lucian by the Kenfort guard caused Lua's jaw to clench. She listened to her mentor's thoughts on their next step while they followed the survivors towards the church. She considered his suggestion carefully. Everything was a test with the old raven, and failure was not taken lightly. Lua did not want to spend the next leg of their journey penitently jogging behind her own horse, again. 

[color=ed145b]“Agreed.”[/color] She answered loudly, trying to be heard above the urban cacophony. [color=ed145b]“First, we need to find where they buried him, see if he's risen yet. At least we don't have to worry about the family, since he already chopped 'em up for us.”[/color] She said in an unaffected tone. Her dark eyes scanned passersby, looking for signs of the Cursed. The citizens of Kenfort would likely pay no mind to someone muttering to themselves or picking furiously at a scab, and that was exactly how the Curse spread with such horrific ease.[/center]