[img]https://i.imgur.com/Ibi28CM.jpg[/img]

The motley group held themselves together well, considering. Everyone was privvy with some tales of boogiemen or beasts of nightmare in their respective cultures. It seemed no matter where one went, there was [i]always[/i] something. Lorcan's melody did not rise two octaves above whisper, though it was jauntier than most might expect from a Skayleigh. It seemed the Caelic Isles were also a place of drink and cheer, even past the cheerless Shrouded Sea beyond Norgard. It almost looked like Raddek was going to hum something of his people, but he stopped himself. A dirge or song of old were heavily merged in his mind from his youth, but that was a lifetime ago. He was too focused to give way to fancies.

Despite the thickness of the air, everyone had an easy time hearing one another. The Thaegar wore a strange, small smirk, as if thinking of a memory both fond and grim. He had figured he would have been sent south with a bunch of rapists and ruined courtiers, but these lads and lasses at least seemed wary. Despite their sharp tongues and sharper quips, Faeril and Migi managed to blend within the group like gnats in the fur of a hog. Not exactly invisible, but inconspicuous and nonchalant. Any eyes upon them would certainly focus a bit more on the taller folk. Even as Migi moved forward in the vanguard, she did well to use her height to its advantage. 

Raddek took Faeril's point with a nod, knowing they were on the same page. They had to get the hell out of here quickly for want of food as much as safety. "Only one way to find out." The fighter said to Reyvadin, curling his manacles around his right fist like makeshift iron knuckles. Migi was already slinking through the brush, so Raddek and the others followed. Emmaline stuck close to the Thaegar, knowing a survivor when she saw one. 

As the group did their best not to snap any twigs or brush against anything that might scuttle or slither among the newspring ground littered with leaves and brush, Migi and those with good eyes would be able to see the forest did not last very long. Well, it might very well be a vast forest, but the smell from the smoke was close at hand. Flame licked their vision, but it wasn't a massive bonefire like some expected. No, it was far more sinister. 

The stink of cooked and decaying meat wafted into the air, permeating the ruins of a nameless village. Even as they approached, the crack of a falling wall reached their ears, and the silence that followed betrayed what they were about to see. A small sob leaped out from somewhere within the ruins, and the group managed to make it to the tree line behind the brush and viewed a sad scene. 

A one eared man unsheathed a langmesser even as they looked, muttering something unintelligible under his breath as he gutted a hapless man, sending a woman into sobs before a mate of his dragged the lass into the crumbled remains of a house. At the center of the road were five men with crossbows, casually speaking to one another and laughing. It was clear they were bandits, judging by their lack of regalia, uniform, or cohesion of any sort. In fact they seemed to be wearing padded jacks and hats from various different locales, likely picked up from people they had murdered. Set before them were five prisoners, their hands tied and their heads bowed. 

"Kill 'em," The messer wielder spat, and he stalked into the house the woman had been dragged into. With another last, uproarious laugh, the crossbowmen began to crank up their windlass crossbows. Steel and timber groaned under the weight of their draw, and they were nearly there. The group had a choice. Let the villagers die and bypass the town, try and kill the crossbowmen, or something else?...