[centre][h3][u]Setting the Stage[/u][/h3][/centre]

[centre][img]http://i64.tinypic.com/15f21ck.png[/img][/centre]

[@Dervish] [@Hank] [@Leidenschaft] [@Stormflyx]

[i]Early Morning, 15th of Sun’s Height, 4E208
Trailing the Southern Drippytaco Mountains, West of Falkreath Hold[/i]

[hr]

[indent]There had been a red sky that morning. Scarlet and gold in stark contrast to the clear blue to which they had grown accustomed to in so far in the mountains. It was lurid and yet still captivating. It was the kind of remarkable sky that was found only in the Reach. That burning glow that painted the undersides of the clouds was contradictory to the peaks of snow and ice that coated the highest mountains on their horizon. 

The trail was slate and verdant - the trees towering either side as their guidelines through the treacherous pathways. The path less travelled, clearly. They moved in pairs for the most part. There were so many colours that even a painter would have had difficulty capturing the saturated hues which they walked under on their way.

Amidst the heightened colour was the familiar chilling bite of morning accompanied by a mist that snaked between each of the trees, lurked behind every stone, and crept further onto the winding pathway until ankles and feet were obscured by it. 

Company came in the form of thrushes darting through the tree line, singing and chirping to each other, and there would have been deer deeper in the forest beginning their day too. This land was so alive, teeming with nature, and as the group was in rather quiet spirits— the music of nature could be enjoyed to its fullest. In the front, there was the sound of careful hooves trekking the gravel, the metal of their shoes kicking back the smallest of stones, crunching them down into compacted prints for the others to follow.

Horses were one of the few animals that Raelynn liked. There was something so beautiful about them in her eyes, and none that she had seen had been quite as beautiful as the palomino she was guiding through the trail. Her golden coat shimmered in the early morning light, and the mane of the mare was almost identical to Raelynn’s own ashen locks. She was quite simply, stunning. “I think I shall name you Lady,” said Raelynn quietly with a smile and one hand on the reigns, the other slowly caressing the horses neck. 

At her side, was an unusual companion — Sevari, with a horse of his own. She gave him a quick and almost unsure glance with her glacial gaze, eyeing him from toe to tip. They’d barely shared a word, and yet had experienced so much together. Finnen seemed to trust the man, and that was about enough for her to manage to spark something of some small talk with him. “Does yours have a name?” She asked, in as affable a voice as she could - even if the words did fall slightly quieter than she’d have liked. It was difficult to speak boldly to the man who’d tried to kill Gregor, after all. 

Sevari shrugged, nodded, the rifle slung over his shoulder jostling just so with the motion as he patted his midnight-black horse’s flank, “Stranger.” He said, the horse huffing almost as if in response, “Had him for a while now, think he likes not being stabled all day like he was in Gilane.”

He looked to the horse Raelynn had, its reins in a dainty fist, and Sevari made to speak until his eyes picked out the scar on Raelynn’s hand. That never would go away. But Sevari was done apologizing for other men, eyes on the task, like he used to be. He regained himself well enough, “Lady?”

That made her smile. "That's mysterious, I like it. It suits him," she said with a nod of appreciation - noticing where Sevari's eyes landed. She should have put the gloves on. "I know. It's something of an obvious choice," she remarked, slightly bashful all of a sudden. "I was never any good at picking names… She belonged to someone, well, my bodyguard in Gilane. Strange that she made it all this way." Her voice trailed off and she looked forwards again. 

Trailing a little ways behind them, close enough to hear the two talk but not close enough to make out the words, was Gregor. He kept his eyes on the road and on their surroundings while his tireless legs plodded onwards. It was supposed to be a futile exercise, really, given that Mazrah and Finnen were scouting ahead, but Gregor kept it up either way. The idea that he was helping out, even if it was only a little bit, made him feel better. It was a beautiful day and Gregor was struck by a pang of regret at the thought of the cool mountain air and the fresh breeze that he could no longer feel. 

His eyes fell on Sevari when he heard his voice again. It was only in moments like this that the two of them had been remotely near each other ever since the incident in the bowels of the prison. Gregor had apologized to some of the other and made decent headway, he felt, but the Imperial was at a loss as to how approach Sevari. He had been [i]so angry.[/i] Rightfully so. Gregor grit his teeth and looked away, his eyes scanning the treeline for any movement, but his mind wasn’t on the task. 

Sevari and Raelynn had fallen silent for a moment, and in the quiet space between he’d felt something niggling at his back. He looked back to see Gregor, not looking at him. Whatever evil had been in his eyes in that prison seemed absent. He almost didn’t trust it, but word around the camp was that he was making an apology tour as of late. He’d yet to have his turn. Wouldn’t even know what to say if it came, even. “Hey.” He said over his shoulder at the man, repeating it when he didn’t turn towards him, “Hey. Gregor.”

Had Sevari noticed Gregor staring at him? Given the man’s reputation, from what Gregor had learned so far, that did not entirely surprise him. “Yes, Sevari?” 

“You’re quiet.” Sevari slowed his pace until he was shoulder to shoulder with the other man, his presence almost making his skin buzz with nervousness or some such other energy. Maybe it was the magic. Or maybe it was because he was the first necromancer he’d come across and hadn’t killed. Or maybe he was the first necromancer he’d come across that wasn’t trying to kill everyone. A part of his mind was still waiting for the moment he tried at it. “To me. Been doing the rounds, making amends?”

The Breton felt something in their atmosphere too, "right then," she gave Sevari and Gregor both a dose of cautious side-eye. Whatever this was, she wasn’t about to be part of it. “The path narrows, I’m going ahead,” she announced once Sevari had slowed down. Raelynn began guiding Lady in front of Stranger, her hand tightening on the reins. The horse nickered as she passed her friend and then brushed her nose onto Raelynn’s hand. “That’s it, easy girl…” she said reassuringly once they’d switched into single file. 

"Yes," the lich admitted. "I wasn't sure what to say to you, though." Gregor felt honesty was the best policy now. He fell silent while his mind raced. He hadn't expected to be put on the spot. "You were right to aim your weapon at the man you saw in the prison. I'm sorry you had to see that."

Sevari felt anger rise in him, a quick flash of it like the immolating fury of a flame and just as intense as it was, it lasted about as long. Which as he looked into the eyes of the man next to him, wasn’t all too much at all. “Is that what it is now? The man I saw in the prison?” Sevari felt it again, turned his head away and spat, “Maybe when I start apologizing for the things I’d done I’ll take a point from you. ‘Oh, good Miss Thalmor, your son never came home and you’re right to hate that man who killed him.”

“It was me, Gregor. I killed them. Every single one, and I don’t hide behind anything because even if I dodge every blade coming for my neck, there’s no dodging the Gods.” Sevari frowned heavy at Gregor, “I don’t know who makes it out better in that deal, you or me. I might go to whatever realm of punishment they send me, but you’ll have to be hounded by your own conscience until everyone who knows your sins is dead and in the ground years ago.”

“Say whatever you want to me, Gregor. Maybe I can respect you as the man I drank with in the Haunted Tide again.” Sevari said, a little crack in the hard shell where forgiveness shined through. He found the more years and more bodies he put behind him, that crack grew bigger. Years ago, Marassa might not have even had the displeasure of hearing him speak. Just a knife for an enemy to the back of her neck.

Gregor smiled a sad smile behind the impregnable and inscrutable steel faceplate of his helmet. “You’ve never died, Sevari. It changes you. I say [i]that man[/i] because he is not who stands next to you today. I don’t feel things the same way anymore. Not just the cold or the heat or the taste of food, but anger and sorrow and joy too. I’m sorry I laughed in Sirine’s face after I made her a part of my crimes, but the man who did that, who [i]would[/i] do that, is dead. Do you understand?”

Sevari huffed, looking sidelong at Gregor. They shared a silence, almost like the held breath before loosing an arrow at an enemy, but then Sevari nodded. “Sure.”

There were a few moments behind Sevari where he had to tell himself to move past whatever was in the past. The second week of training with the Bhaanu Sasra, Zaveed and Marassa a thing of the past now. Three hours after finding his brothers strung up and gutted. Betraying his oath to Elsweyr and joining the Penitus Oculatus with his only living brother. And there were things he could never forgive. The deaths of his mother and his father, though he never knew the man well. The deaths of his brothers, for a time.

But maybe this didn’t have to be one. He uncurled his fingers from the sling of his rifle and held his hand out for Gregor. 

“Bury the hatchet.”

[hr]
Daro’Vasora had been looking over a map when the column shifted; she had been more towards the middle, knowing that those in the front were most familiar with the lands, and those in the backs were tough enough to handle any surprises that might sneak up on the group. She didn’t realize the shifting of horses until Fjolte’s own steed bumped into her leg as they tried to rearrange into the single-file line.

“Ah, shit. Sorry about that; I was lost in thought.” she said, taking the reins in one hand, a frown still creasing her face; her perpetually aloof expression had returned in force in recent days. Soon, she had her horse stopped and lining up correctly for its turn. “This isn’t far from home for you, is it?” she asked 

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Hard not to be out here,” he replied with an easy smile, holding back the horse for Sora to regain her comfort again. “Should be watching where I’m going myself,” the Nord chuckled, running a hand through his hair. It was particularly messy this morning, and he pinched his fingers on it to gauge the length. “Getting out of control…” he commented quietly, bringing his hand through his beard which was also sprouting at a rapid rate. “As for home, you’re right it’s not. If I were alone, it would be a day or two ride at best to Rorikstead." He looked over longingly for a moment, it would be quite easy to do such a thing, to take off - but he had sworn his services, he was part of the group now. "How do you fare, anyway?" He asked, as politely as he could.

“If you want, I can help you trim it. I can’t promise it’ll look all that fetching, but it should be a bit more comfortable.” Daro’Vasora offered, leading her horse ahead but nimbly turning around in her saddle to face Fjolte directly. She thought about what he asked, and she found herself surprised to realize that a lot of the weight seemed to be lifting as the altitude diminished and the green pillar of energy wasn’t so readily visible. The hard part was over; now they were scaling down and hopefully on a much more temperate leg of the journey. The Reach’s climate was a lot more agreeable than the damned desert, by any rate. 

“I’m doing well, actually. Sleep’s come a bit more easily and I feel more certain of the path ahead. I almost feel hopeful…?” her voice trailed off. Fjolte had been nothing but a gentleman since his abrupt return to her life, and a part of her was wondering if maybe her earlier experiences with him were shaped by her worldview at the time. He was much more pleasant and agreeable now, but he hadn’t changed. 

She had. It was a sobering thought, at the very least.

“You know, Fjolte, you don’t have to travel with us if you want to go home. Nothing’s keeping anyone here other than a sense of obligation, and if you feel you’d be better off with your family or friends, I understand. This wasn’t your fight, and I don’t want you to feel like you owe us for helping you out of a tight spot.” Daro’Vasora offered, a slight upturn of a smile breaking her countenance. She meant every word, but a part of her would miss his presence if he said yes. His cheer had helped everyone through some hard times, and him and Gregor seemed to be keeping to the latter’s rehabilitation sessions. It suddenly occurred to her that she never asked Fjolte if he was okay with the arrangement; everyone was handling Gregor’s turn in different ways, few of them positive.

“And miss all of this fun?” he asked with a laugh. “I like being around people, around tribes. There’s much to be learnt. It’s true, you may not be [i]my[/i] tribe but I am more initiated every day.” He sighed, his face grew serious all of a sudden. He knew he’d hurt the woman by having shared certain tales with Mazrah, he should own up to it. Now seemed as good a time as any.

“Y’know, it was pretty fucked of me to talk about, well, [i]us.[/i]” He’d observed the way Sora had looked at him since, and while she had softened some - he felt bad all the same, and his words were sincere, even if he wasn’t used to confronting his mistakes like this. “I didn’t think I’d be sticking around, I figured it was why you didn’t want me to stay… I thought nothing of it-” he fumbled, the words falling without him [i]really[/i] thinking about them. “I mean, not of [i]that[/i]. That was special, I have fond thoughts of it-” Fjolte blustered again, for a man so good with words and spinning a yarn, he was struggling with this. “I mean, I don’t think of it often - not like that. Just sometimes, but- ah!” He stopped for a moment, distracting himself by running a hand through the mane of the horse.

“Fuck it. I don’t regret us, I’d do it again. I’m not ashamed or embarrassed by it, but it’s the past. We’re both different people now, you have Finnen and truly, from the bottom of my heart I’m happy for you. To see you happy, that is.” Sometimes just speaking the truth in the way he knew best, was in fact, the best way to deal with things. Having found his words, he smiled at her again, feeling much less flushed. 

Daro’Vasora couldn’t help but smile at Fjolte’s fumbling, the clumsy way he handled the situation. It was surprisingly endearing, and genuine. “You know, if you acted more like you do now back then, I probably would have had fonder memories of that time. It’s okay; I forgive you. It’s nothing I should have been worked up over… I just always have been so guarded and feel like the more people know about me, the more they can hurt me or manipulate me.” the Khajiit explained with a sigh, scratching behind her nose and running the hand down her neck.

“It always felt like you felt that was a time to boast about, and it felt like it diminished me as a person. Just another notch on the belt, the wild Daro’Vasora tamed by Fjolte the daring. That kind of petty shit. I’ve had a lot of people hurt me, but Fjolte? You were never one of them.” she said, her eyes meeting his. “The way I handled things, the way I looked at the world, it was ignorant and selfish. I was so preoccupied with my own perception of you I never bothered to think of who [I]you[/I] actually were.”

“If it bothers you, then be worked up. Just don’t let it eat you. It’s good to feel what we feel. I used to be an idiot. Still am occasionally,” he added with a wink and an open mouthed smile. “I feel differently though. There’s power in wearing everything on your sleeve, I don’t hide a damned thing, if someone wants to use it against me… well, to that I say… [i]”and?”[/i] y’know?” He shrugged almost nonchalantly at it. “Fjolte the Daring though eh? Quite like that one,” he added with yet another wink. “Truth is, I do regret the way I’ve treated people in the past but it is what it is. I have sisters and nieces and I want to be a good example to them of what a good man should be I guess… Is that ridiculous?”

As they continued forwards on their path, a thought crossed his mind - and had he given it any longer than a second to consider, he might not have said it at all, “you’re a good person Sora, with a good heart in there, you’re worth boasting about.”

“Well, maybe one day I’ll believe that.” the Khajiit replied with a noncommittal shrug. Still, the compliment was nice, but she didn’t want to boast or come across as arrogant. “I’m better today than I was yesterday, and it’s enough. I’ve got enough things to worry about than things that happened years ago, especially when they weren’t objectively bad. Objectively bad would be having a hand in bringing an extinct race back from somewhere in Atherius who immediately went about ruining things for everyone.” she grunted, looking over her shoulder to see where they were headed, as if it was the source of all of her issues.

“You know, I nearly abandoned everyone in the middle of all this, before everyone looked up to me. Last thing I did before taking off and nearly making the biggest mistake of my life was accuse the woman who lead us into those ruins and gave up everything, even her life, to keep us safe, of being responsible for everything and that everyone’s suffering was on her.” Daro’Vasora said quietly, her gaze turned downward and she closed her eyes, trying to picture Rhea’s face. Thankfully, she could remember the Imperial woman almost as clearly as the days she knew her. 

“I wish I hadn’t done that.” Daro’Vasora admitted.

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,” Fjolte said, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m sure they all tell you to be kinder to yourself, nobody blames you for this. Including the woman of which you speak,” he added, trying to be as kind as he could. There was more he wanted to say, but as it so happened, he was stopped in his tracks by the sudden rushing of birds into the air...

[hr]
Gregor and Sevari shook hands. And of all the damnedest things in the world, Sevari felt a weight off his shoulders. He turned around to speak to Sora, leaning past  behind him to get a view of her, “That map telling you where we-”

Daro’Vasora turned in her saddle at the sound of Sevari calling her name, her eyes widening with shock.

All hell had broken loose.

[hr]
Hot blood on his face. No air in his lungs. It was numb, everything was. He couldn’t hear anything. There was a weight on top of him heavier than anything. Stranger was on top of him, red meat standing out from the black of his coat, his body limp with that big, red hole. His face scrunched up with confusion, he was on the ground but couldn’t recall falling. He made to speak but none of his voice came to his ears. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, finally, and then the pain came, but his screams were useless though his face surely betrayed all the misery running through his veins about then. He tried to call for help, tried to scream for all he was worth but still nothing but gurgles until he turned his head and let loose a good gout of black, thick blood from his lips. He remembered he had hands, as odd as that sounded even to him, and he felt along his stomach and his chest and it was all wet, fingers sliding slick over his chest and his shirt stuck to his skin until he felt the hole still drooling blood in his right breast. The blood around it bubbled with every shallow and laboring breath of his.

His eyes went to the shape above him. Gregor? Raelynn? He couldn’t see through the tears and all the pain and all the black…..

The bullet had come seemingly out of nowhere, but the muzzle flash and the loud discharge of soul gem energy from the treelines betrayed its origin. Gregor turned to face it and saw strange shapes in the greenery -- large and humanoid, but definitely not human. Too big. Their armor was like brass. 

A strange and alien instinct made itself master over Gregor and he found himself in front of Sevari and Raelynn, shielding them with his body. Another loud, crackling [I]boom[/I] preceded a heavy impact in his chest and Gregor had to bury his heels in the dirt to stay upright. Another lung shot, but this time he was the target. He tried to draw breath to speak but found that he couldn't. 

Fortunately, he no longer needed to breathe in order to fight.

He drew his claymore with one hand and prepared a spell in the other. Not seen since his haphazard escape from Nadeen's poison, the undead steed that the Ideal Masters had bequeathed onto Gregor burst forth from a shimmering portal. With his great strength, the lich hoisted himself into the saddle and charged towards the enemy -- whatever they might be, Gregor was determined to buy his allies the time they needed to organise and defend themselves. 

“Shit,” Fjolte uttered, gritting his teeth as he veered out into the distance, his horse was spooked, trying to buck him from the saddle. He gripped the reins tightly but it was no use, he was thrown from it’s back after the first cracking sound. His natural dexterity prevented him from falling too hard, and he landed on his feet. “We have to move,” he said, panting, before he leapfrogged himself onto the back of Sora’s steed. “Afraid you’re coming with me,” he concluded, taking the reins of Sora’s horse, his eyes suddenly piercing now that he was on task. 

The shock and sudden brutality had Daro’Vasora dazed for a moment that she didn’t register Fjolte jumping up behind her immediately onto Tullius, her horse. The sudden jerk of the stallion jerked her back to her senses and they took off from the others; she was about to protest leaving the others behind, especially with Sevari lying prone in the dirt as if he were seriously wounded, but then she realized that Fjolte wasn’t running from the fight.

He was running right towards it.

“You better not get my fucking horse killed!” she snarled, gripping on where she could so she wouldn’t fall off the horse as it bucked, likely terrified itself of what it was being commanded to do. It wasn’t a trained war horse, at least not to this degree, and she felt that the nature of warfare was never going to be the same as they charged the cannon that killed Stranger, whose life unintentionally spared Sevari’s.

[hr]
They were making good ground, but all ground gained was good when it was a contest to be had. He knew this country, but Mazrah seemed to know the ground. Every inch, her feet adjusting and every leap and bound seemed calculated to the last minute twitch of muscle in her feet. Finnen knew why they called her the Huntress. But a Reachman always knew his home.

And so they raced. Through the trees, over logs, heedless and stinging through overgrowth whipping at their faces as they went. “You’ll have to try better at this! I’m no hare, Mazrah!”

The two of them laughed, nothing but the sound of their contest around them, the beating of his heart and the breath in his ears. Then he heard a sharp crack. Not a stick, their feet were not careless enough for that. Something else. Finnen turned to look and found Mazrah doing the same. Above them and a ways away, a flock of birds taking flight from the trees, spooked. The pair looked to each other and without words, they knew they had to get back. With even more of the vigor of their contest, they took the same path back to the others. Finnen’s mind raced, was it Sora? They were in danger. Sevari wouldn’t have let off a shot otherwise. [i]No, no, no,[/I] his mind was flooded with the word, the tempo of it like his quick footfall until it almost lost all meaning. The mourning bleat of an animal in distress.












[right][i]To be continued...[/i][/right][/indent]